


Soul Sick

by sylvanWhispers



Series: Thramsay Halloween [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Codependency, Forced Relationship, Gaslighting, M/M, Mind Games, Mind Screw, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Red String of Fate, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-12-17 10:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 65,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvanWhispers/pseuds/sylvanWhispers
Summary: It is known that the day after meeting your soulmate, you wake up with a red band inked around your little finger.Theon never paid the notion much mind (one in a billion odds, after all) or wasted any time speculating about his match. When his other half turns out to be the infamous psychopath from last night’s bar fight, the prospect of a soulmate has never been less romantic nor more terrifying - but the consequences of rejecting his bond might be worse.





	1. Chapter 1

It came as a surprise to no one that Theon Greyjoy was not an especially romantic, nor sentimental man. 

Soul marks, love brands, rings of fate… he knew of them. Everyone did. It was rare as hell but everyone at least knew somebody who knew somebody that was red-tied. Lots of people were obsessed with finding their match, canceling after first dates and refusing advances from people they knew weren’t their other half.

The thing was that the marks only showed up _after_ you met your match, specifically the next time you slept. Upon waking you would find your little finger permanently inked with a red band, marking you as bonded.

Theon couldn’t count how many times his one night stand had woken up, looked at her hands in mild disappointment, and left with a shrug and a see-you-never. Which was pretty convenient, in his opinion.

The girl he was chatting up at the bar didn’t have a soul mark, same as most. He couldn’t remember her name (Amanda, Marissa maybe?) but he’d seen her around. She’d competed in the regional archery tournament that day, ranking decently, but she hadn’t placed. Theon was still riding the high of his clearance for nationals and was more than happy to promise some ‘one-on-one training’ to help her out for next year.

She had the standard Northern good looks: dark hair, fair skin, deep eyes. Nothing special but certainly nothing offensive. She was playing hard to get, not rejecting nor leaning into his advances, and giving secret little smiles like she knew something he didn’t.

In hindsight he’d swear he felt the chill run down his spine just before the light tapping on his shoulder drew his attention.

“Excuse me,” The voice was deceptively placid, pleasant in a way that screamed _fuck off_, “you’re in my seat.”

Theon glanced over his shoulder and took the man in: slightly shorter than himself but with a stockier build. Northern through and through, with even darker hair and paler skin than the girl. His eyes were the striking thing - a ghostly steel blue that Theon wasn’t sure he’d seen before.

He dismissively turned his back without a word.

“That your boyfriend?” He gestured casually over his shoulder.

The girl smirked into her glass like she was trying not to laugh. “Something like that.”

A hand firmly grasped Theon’s shoulder and spun him around with surprising force.

“Bit rude, aren’t you?” The man asked, sickly sweet tone beginning to seethe away a bit.

“Me? Look mate, we’re just _talking_.” Theon planted his hand at the center of that broad chest because apparently the asshole had never heard of personal space. “Why don’t you be a dear and fuck back off?”

For a long moment the air was still. Beneath his hand Theon could feel the shallow rise and fall of the man’s breathing. There was also an admittedly formidable layer of muscle. He wasn’t especially alarmed when the guy reached for his wrist - he expected to be brushed off and decked because it was what he, along with most men, would’ve done.

Then there was a grip on his finger, and a vibrant explosion of pain that nearly had him blacking out.

There was a scream and it took Theon several seconds to realize it was his own, that he was leaning heavily on the bar with spots swarming his vision. There was heat from someone leaning over him, hissing something in his ear about bad manners, but he couldn’t absorb a single word of it because his right hand was _dying._

The punch with his left was a blind swing but he felt it connect and heard the grunt of pain when it did.

The bar gave a wild tilt beneath his feet but someone was there to catch and hold him up. Jon, judging by the cologne. The recognizable shock of red was probably Robb, standing between him and that psychopath with his hands up.

“-leaving alright, we’re going, just calm down,” he was saying, motioning at Jon to quickly drag Theon out of the bar.

Theon looked down at his hand and instantly felt sick again. His index finger was jutting out at a weird angle (what in the hell, who even knew _how to do something like that_) as it emanated waves of agony in its awful new position.

He was loaded into Robb’s car with an incoherent stream of obscenities flowing from his lips, cradling his hand and needing Jon to buckle him in like a damn child.

“Of all the people to piss off over nothing,” Jon muttered. “Typical.”

“I didn’t fucking do anything!” Theon spat. “You saw what he did!”

Jon only shook his head as Robb joined them, hurriedly starting the engine and gunning for the nearest hospital. Theon could read his best friend like a book and was quick to cut the tirade before it started.

“Not sure if you could tell," Theon grunted. "But I'm not in shape for a lecture right now.” 

“Too bad!” Robb snapped, barreling through a yellow light. “Do you even know who that was?”

“Some crazy asshole.”

“That was Ramsay Bolton, for fuck’s sake. That was _the _crazy asshole, and you just had a fucking bar brawl with him!”

Theon faltered. Everyone had heard of Ramsay Bolton. The North was permeated with rumors that bordered on horror stories: whispers that Roose Bolton was some kind of corporate mobster and his bastard literally got away with murder on the regular.

Theon gave a forced shrug. “Whatever. It's not my damn fault.”

Robb and Jon exchanged a glance.

“Let’s just… let’s just get your hand sorted out. Then we’ll worry about the rest.”

Three hours in the E.R. and a stop at the pharmacy for some glorious pain meds later, the night was mercifully coming to a close.

Theon’s finger had been dislocated and sprained but it wasn’t broken. With recovery time and physical therapy it hopefully wouldn’t hinder him in nationals. He still knew who he’d be blaming if he underperformed.

The splint wasn’t anything impressive but Jon had still managed to draw a little frowny face on it. Theon had promptly reminded him that it didn’t require two hands to flip someone off.

After dropping Jon at his place Robb took Theon home, where he insisted on spending the night.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” Theon grumbled, still holding his injury gingerly.

“It’s fine. After tonight’s circus I’d rather crash here instead of driving all the way home anyway,” Robb said as he toed off his shoes.

“Yeah, yeah. Just admit you want to curl up with me because you think Ramsay Bolton’s going to slink in here with a knife like a White Walker.”

Robb scowled. “Don’t joke about that. Dad always warned me about the Boltons and you know he doesn’t play around with that sort of thing. I’m worried about you.”

Theon grunted, too tired and sedated to argue. Instead he wobbled into his room and toppled gracelessly into bed. He watched vacantly as Robb left the painkillers on his side table and all but tucked him in.

“I know there’s been a thorough dampening on the evening, but… you did great at the tournament today. We’re all really proud of you,” Robb said. “Everyone who watched it at home says congratulations.”

Theon said nothing, mind flitting to how his own phone had been silent all night. He wondered if his family had even remembered that the tournament was today. If they’d have cared regardless. His dad had always said archery was a fake sport.

Robb sighed the way he did when he knew Theon’s mind had gone to dark places.

“I’m gonna shower. Careful with the hand, okay?”

Theon nodded mutely. He was asleep by the time the water started running.

* * *

Theon wasn’t really the type to dream. When he did, it was always nonsensical scraps and half-remembered scenes. Never a coherent narrative.

That night he dreamt of the forest, knee-deep in snow as trees stretched infinitely overhead. Theon had always hated the woods. Yet in this moment, the only other time he could remember feeling so simultaneously small and peaceful was when he was up to his ankles in sand and foam, watching waves break on the rocks.

The woods were blissfully quiet and his legs trudged unbidden through the snow. He had no control, a mere spectator in his body. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old and a hunting rifle was heavy in his hands. A faint rustle in the brush drew his attention to a white hare, nosing from the thicket about a twenty yards off.

He adjusted his grip and took aim.

The dream melted away and retook shape in a classroom.

Everything was a mess of laughter and garbled words, grating on his senses and setting his teeth on edge. The teacher looked half awake and no one else seemed to care that it was just so damn _loud._

Someone roughly bumped into his chair before steadying themselves on his desk.

“Watch it _Snow_,” was sneered into his ear.

He felt the rage bubble up in his chest, fires already stoked by the violent assault on his senses. He didn’t even think before reaching into his pencil bag, grabbing a drafting compass, and burying the business end of it into the soft, fleshy hand on his desk.

The classroom was suddenly filled with a very different kind of noise and he found himself not minding it at all.

Next he was thirteen, stained red up to his elbows. He could feel his father’s critical gaze watching his every move as he gutted and skinned the felled deer. He did his best to hide his tension, to make each cut precise but not too slow. Despite his efforts he still gave the slightest jump when he felt his father's hand on his back. 

His father would notice. He noticed everything.

“… It is adequate.”

Pride swelled in his chest at the faint praise, so much so that he couldn’t help but feel just a bit disgusted with himself.

He was sixteen and losing his virginity in the kennels.

It hadn’t sat entirely right with him, doing it where anyone could walk in and tell his father, but Myranda had insisted. Once she’d pushed up her skirts he had lost all ounce of protest.

She wrapped her hands around his throat while his nails clawed bloody tracks into her thighs. Her panting was hot and heavy in his ear.

“_I love you_,” and it felt like winning because he knew she meant it.

He was eighteen when he killed for the first time.

He’d been grabbed on his way to the corner store and hauled into a nondescript black car. His first thought was that it was some sort of test, another hurdle for him to jump for his father. But they didn’t bind his hands and there were only two men - the driver and the idiot pointing a gun at him in the backseat. His father would have put a bag over his head and ties on his wrists, would have had him locked in the boot of the car.

This was too arrogant and sloppy to be anything but real. They’d thought he was just some kid and that a gun would be enough to scare him.

It was messier than he expected, thrusting his knife into the man’s neck. He always had at least one blade on his person, always living in hope that there would be a need. So much blood spurted out and yet it took the man a surprisingly long time to die, left to slump in the back seat and gasp wetly like a hooked fish.

He held his dripping knife to the driver’s throat and gave instructions on where to go, where they would wait for his father's men. The world seemed so clear and vibrant in that moment. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so _alive_.

Age twenty-two and it was Bolton now, not Snow.

He was down in the dungeon, idly examining his prey on the cross.

He’d never actually tortured a woman before. Not in earnest. He and Myranda had brought girls home from bars in the past, pretty tipsy little things that never knew what they were getting into until it was too late. But that was different. That was pleasure, and this was (technically) business.

It was always men stealing from or otherwise displeasing his father. He supposed it didn’t matter. Meat was meat after all, and his hungry girls weren’t picky in that regard.

“Well,” he said, brandishing a flaying knife. “this should be interesting.”

* * *

Theon was wrenched from the depths of sleep like a drowning man coming up for air. His head was spinning, heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to burst free from his chest.

His fumbled out of bed, taking most of the sheets with him in a formless tangle and drawing a sleepy protest from Robb. Theon didn’t have the time or presence of mind to care. The bathroom door swung shut behind him with a slam and he fell to his knees in front of the toilet, just in time for the wave of bile to heave its way up his throat.

He was shaking so violently it scared him. All he could hear was the roar of his pulse, as if he had conch shells held to both ears. It felt like his whole world was rattling apart at the seams. He vaguely knew Robb was knocking on the door, asking what was wrong, if he’d drunk something strange last night.

He continued to heave long after he’d emptied his stomach into the bowl, images of gore and viscera burned into his mind. When he was finally too exhausted to continue Theon rested his forehead against the cool porcelain. He took a shuddering breath, only just realizing that his face was wet with tears. He felt lost at sea, swaying as the room rocked back and forth beneath him.

He didn’t hear the bathroom door open, but Robb’s hand was a blessed tether as it moved in soothing circles on his back.

“Talk to me, Theon. You weren’t that drunk last night. Was it the meds? Are you in pain?”

He was in pain, he was sure of it, but his whole body was freaking out and he could no longer tell what was physical and what was something else.

Then he felt Robb go rigid at his side.

“Oh… Theon, your _hand_.”

Theon grimaced as he slowly became aware of his right hand thrumming in its splint - a sure sign that it was time for another dose of painkillers. His left was also sore, bruised from its acquaintance with Bolton’s face. He unsteadily lifted his head to blearily assess his injuries. They didn’t look so bad, even if they were a bit swollen to hell.

“It’s fine,” he said roughly. “I’ve got an ice pack or two I can dig out of the freezer-”

He stopped upon noting that Robb’s sky blue eyes were wide as dinner plates, honed in on where Theon’s left hand was curled around the edge of the toilet seat.

It was when he pried his fingers away from the basin that he saw it: a crimson band, so garishly red that Theon had never seen its like before, inescapably bright against the pale of his skin.

_Oh no._

The thoughts had barely passed through his brain before he was crumpled right back over the toilet, dry heaving the acid from his stomach.

* * *

Theon still couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

Robb had tried to help, tried to be comforting. Even tried to be excited for him, once Theon was cleaned up and bundled on the couch with his hands wrapped in ice. It helped, just a bit, to not have to look at the glaring brand staining his skin.

His mind continued to drift to things he’d rather not think about. He wondered what moments of his own life had flitted through Bolton’s dreams last night. Had he seen Theon’s childhood in the islands, crushed under the scorn of his father and brothers? Experienced being held in his mother’s arms in the sea? A youth spent jockeying amongst the Stark children?

Each prospect made him feel raw and exposed. Violated.

He didn’t want to know what had Bolton felt when he emerged from his private tour through Theon’s most intimate moments; if he had woken up next to that girl of his, nauseous and lost, when he looked down to see his own finger marked.

“I’ll talk to my dad,” Robb was saying seriously, pacing the length of Theon’s cluttered living room. “We’ll see if we can get in touch with the girl quick, make sure she’s not alone for any-“

“What are you talking about?” Theon sounded like the living dead despite having only awoken an hour prior.

Robb barely spared him a glance. “The girl. Bolton’s girl, from the bar. She’s the one right? That’s what’s got you all fucked up. But like I said, we’ll figure something out to keep you two safe, I promise.”

He continued to talk about plans and security measures, putting better locks or a camera on the door, and most of all getting in contact with the girl before Bolton found out about the mark and did something drastic.

Theon couldn’t take any more of it. “It’s not the girl, Robb.”

His friend paused, brow raised.

“Oh.” Immediately his chest deflated, a relieved smile crossing his features. “Thank the _gods._ Fuck Theon, you had me freaking out for a minute there. You looked like death this morning and- well you still don’t look great, but. So who was it? Someone else from the tournament?”

“No.”

“One of the reporters maybe? You always had a thing for older wome-“

“Robb.” Theon would’ve been a hair’s breadth from losing it if he had any energy left in him to do so. “It _isn’t_. The _girl_.”

For a long time they stared at each other. Confused sky-blue eyes assessed intense sea-green, and Theon had to watch every phase of it as Robb’s horrified and disbelieving realization sank in.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Robb had heard no arguments as he packed a duffel bag of Theon’s things and hauled them all back into his car. He was clearly trying to be in control for his friend’s sake, but had been muttering “dad will know what to do” for the past ten minutes and it was really having the opposite effect.

That was just the way Robb was, always trying to take the helm or strategize on others' behalf and talking through his panic until things started to make sense.

Theon’s breakdowns tended to be internal. They brewed within him like a storm, eroding at his insides until the swell broke into a maelstrom of destructive behavior and bad decisions. He could feel it starting to happen now, the shame and disgust and fear all mixing and tumbling together in his chest. A brain fog of denial was holding it back somewhat.

Because it had to be a mistake, it could only be a mistake, _how could this happen_-

“Theon.”

He blinked himself back into his body. At some point they had arrived at the Stark family estate. Robb was eyeing him from the driver’s seat, sun catching on his copper hair and concern clear in his deep blue eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, determined and steady. “You’re going to be okay.”

Theon bit the inside of his lip. It was just like Robb to so confidently promise something that he had no way of knowing.

“This isn’t going to go away. I can’t live with you forever.”

“Of course you can,” Robb said firmly. “But that’s not what I meant. We’ll get something figured out, alright? I don’t know how this happened but Bolton is a dangerous guy. The things he’s involved in… you don’t want to get caught up in that.”

“I know.” Theon had never even considered the alternative.

He tried to imagine it - dinner and movies with Ramsay Bolton. Quiet nights in at his house, two floors up from the murder basement. He almost threw up a little in his mouth.

“Okay.” Robb gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Let’s go.”

Despite having his own place Robb still visited his family home every other weekend or so. His mom always greeted him like he’d been gone months, with a hug and an embrace and a flurry of questions about what might have happened to him in the days they’d been apart. Upon catching sight of Theon she usually gave little more than a click of her tongue or a light sigh, unenthused yet unsurprised to see him towed along.

No one ever so much as bat an eye at Theon’s arrival. He was such an unexceptional fixture to the family that he hadn’t counted as a guest in years.

“Come in, then. The kids have just sat down for lunch,” Mrs. Stark said, waving them forward. “Or rather breakfast, for some of them.”

Meals were always a lively occasion in the house. Even with Robb, Jon and Theon gone that still left four teenage Starks to squabble with one another. As expected, the pair of them got little more than a nod and a wave as they filed into the dining room.

“What happened to your hand?” Rickon asked, nodding at the splint. “Did you hurt it at the archery thing?”

“I punched a guy so hard my finger broke,” Theon said without missing a beat. “Killed him in one hit.”

“You’re so full of shit, Greyjoy.” Arya had flicked a crouton at him from across the table, at that was the end of that.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling uncomfortable at the Stark family table (the first few times didn’t count). He had always felt free enough to be as loud and obnoxious as the others, bickering and elbowing with the kids to get at the food. He even had his own unofficial chair, almost at the end of the table right between Robb and the empty space Jon would occupy.

However that day lunch was an unusually awkward affair.

Theon felt wrong-footed and self-conscious, for once happy to go unnoticed. He stared into his plate, uncharacteristically quiet as he picked at his food and let the others fill the void.

“What’re you looking so dour for?” Arya finally asked, jabbing a fork in his direction.

“Arya.” Robb cast her a warning look.

“What? Don’t tell me he’s having a sulk because he only ranked second place yesterday.”

“I heard that statistically, bronze winners are happier with their performance than silvers,” Bran piped up. “It’s all psychological.”

“Yeah, but this is Theon. I’m surprised he didn’t bring the medal in here to brag over all day,” Arya said. “I’d congratulate you, but your head’s big enough as is.”

“You should anyway. The competition was even bigger than last year’s, eh?” Robb amiably nudged his elbow to Theon’s side.

Theon shrugged. “I didn’t really notice.”

“Well I certainly did,” Sansa said. “We had to sit through like, fifty archers waiting for you to shoot.”

“I fell asleep,” Rickon agreed. “… Glad you won, though.”

“Honestly,” Sansa pressed on. “How many people could there possibly be in the North, running around with bows and arrows in their spare time?”

“Some of us have hobbies.” Arya waved her off. “Shows how prepared you’ll be when the wight apocalypse comes.”

“You are such a child. I’ll have you know I have plenty of hobbies, and none of them involve- _oh my god._ What is _that?_”

Sansa gave an honest to god shriek, causing Theon to freeze mid-reach for his glass.

“Oh my god,” Sansa repeated, practically climbing across the table to grapple Theon’s hand. “Is this what I think it is!?”

“Uh.”

The table almost instantaneously erupted into bedlam, the Stark children all jostling each other with ‘_what is it?_’s and ‘_I want to see!_’s.

“Is it real?” Bran asked, head tilted to peer around his sister.

“Of course it is. As if Theon of all people would fake it,” Arya said. “He’d sooner fake his own death just to avoid calling a girl back.”

“This is amazing,” Sansa gushed, stars in her eyes as she examined Theon’s pinky from every angle. “Do you know how amazing this is?”

“Leave him be,” Robb said, trying to swat her off.

“Oh come on, this is huge! Tell me everything. How’d you meet, who is she, what’s her name!?”

Maybe it was the cacophony that got to him, causing pressure and panic to build within his chest.

“It’s not a she,” Theon blurted out.

There was a dead pause. Seconds ticked by.

“_Ohh_,” a universal round of nods and noises of understanding rippled across the table.

“Man, that is _so_ not a big deal,” Arya said. “What do you take us for?”

“Especially since we’re all like, ninety percent sure Jon swings both ways.” Bran added.

“And I personally always thought you were overcompensating a bit with all the ladies,” Sansa said with a shrug.

Theon nearly choked on his own tongue.

“So come on! Who is he? He’s gotta be Northern, right? Is he an archer too?” She asked eagerly. “Gods, he must have nice arms.”

“Oh so now you like archery.” Arya rolled her eyes. “Who cares about all that? Soulbonds are so overrated.”

“How can you say that? Mom and dad are bonded!”

Theon slipped away from the table, appetite gone.

“I’m uh, gonna step out.”

He did his best to ignore the exclamations of confusion as he headed for the stairs.

“What’s _his _problem?”

* * *

Theon sulked in his room for the rest of the weekend, pillow clutched to his chest and feeling sorry for himself. It was like being sixteen all over again. He didn’t know what Robb had told the others and didn’t want to know, all that mattered was that they had decided amongst themselves to leave him be (for now).

Theon had his own bedroom in the Stark house, though he was pretty sure it had once been an office or perhaps a nursery. It was tellingly small and lacked both a closet and a bathroom, but the Starks had inserted a twin bed and a dresser for him ages ago. It was where he had spent every summer and holiday break whilst attending boarding school in the North; it was also where he’d lived after graduation until he and Robb were able to move into their first apartment together. As much as the admission tore him up inside, he felt more at home than he ever had back in the islands.

The Starks had always been good to him, if a bit long-suffering about it on occasion. He couldn’t blame them - he’d been a difficult teenager and grown into an only slightly less difficult adult. They weren’t his family, not really, but he’d been allowed to carve a place for himself in their household. Most days he felt like a troublesome cousin or something. ‘Oh that Theon, he’s a pain in the ass but it’s not like we can get rid of him or anything’. As if they’d all forgotten that they very well could.

He told himself it was because they were genuinely fond, and not because Robb had seen his scars and bruises and made an appeal to his parents’ pity. He wasn’t sure he could bear it otherwise.

Theon lay back in his old bed and stared into the ceiling. This was probably what shock felt like, he decided. It was the only explanation for how numb and displaced he felt in his own skin.

Sunbeams fell across his bed and he couldn’t help but examine his hands in sick fascination. He’d heard of people getting red ribbon tattoos on their fingers, usually upon deciding to marry someone that wasn’t their bonded. Apparently even the best jobs couldn’t be mistaken for the real thing though, and looking at his own mark Theon understood why.

The red band on his finger actually had a sort of _sheen_ to it in the light, an almost metallic kind of glimmer. It was also the truest shade of red he’d ever seen, deep and rich and bright all at once. His skin felt the same, not marred or pained or weighed down in any way. Allegedly the marks glowed in the dark, if just a little bit, but he didn’t want to find out. He wanted to open his eyes and have this whole ordeal be a bizarre, painkiller-induced dream.

There was a knock on the door and Theon balled his hand into a fist guiltily, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Yeah?”

Ned Stark pushed open the door, looking almost as tired as Theon felt but wearing it far better. Theon quickly sat up.

“Theon. I wondered if we could have a word.”

“Ah. Of course, Mr. Stark.”

He took a seat at the nearby desk, hands steepled in his lap. Theon’s eyes drifted to the red band adorning the man’s own finger before quickly looking away uncomfortably.

Mr. Stark cleared his throat. “I’ve spoken to Robb.”

Theon winced and nodded.

“I understand there are… concerns.”

“Should I,” Theon shifted awkwardly. “Should I not be concerned?”

A heavy pause.

“… I don’t envy that boy’s upbringing.” Mr. Stark said finally. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy, being raised in such a setting.”

“Are you suggesting Ramsay Bolton is _misunderstood_?”

Mr. Stark’s expression was utter stone.

“I am saying that sometimes fate is very unkind. You need to know that who your bondmate is, or rather who they became, does not reflect upon you as a person, Theon.”

It was as if a weight he hadn’t realized he was even carrying suddenly lifted off his chest. It had been haunting him in the back of his mind, this notion that he must be truly rotten inside to have such a match. Everyone who’d ever muttered that he was the bad egg in the Stark’s otherwise pristine basket would be proven right: Theon Greyjoy was wicked, untrustworthy, depraved.

_If Ramsay fucking Bolton is your other half, what kind of person must _ ** _you_ ** _ be?_

Theon swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you sir.”

The man always had a way of making him feel like an awkward kid.

“Robb is very worried about your safety and I understand why,” Mr. Stark said. “The Boltons… I won’t do you the dishonor of lying to you. They’re dangerous, and they are very good at what they do. I have never approved of their conduct.”

‘But they never get caught and there’s nothing anyone can do about it’ hung unspoken in the air.

“I took the liberty of calling Roose Bolton this afternoon,” Mr. Stark continued, the words sending a flare of alarm through Theon’s body.

It had always seemed as if Stark and Bolton were grudgingly ignoring each other, their ideologies in conflict but neither quite having the resources needed to truly oppose the other.

Theon didn’t know much more about the Stark family than what he’d seen with his own eyes: they were involved in local government, owned a lot of Northern property and commanded the respect of the region. Signs pointed to a family history that wasn’t exactly squeaky clean, but that was long past and frankly par for the course with old money houses.

“I thought it for the best.” Mr. Stark continued. “Better to be open and come to an understanding now, rather than be accused of secrecy or ill will later.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Gods, Theon didn’t even want to think about what that conversation had been like.

“Bolton was already aware that his son’s mark had appeared, but apparently Ramsay had not yet disclosed who his bond was,” Mr. Stark continued. “Roose’s concern seemed to be in regards anything you may have seen during your soulshare last night.”

Theon stared into his lap. “I didn’t see anything.”

Only blood, death, and violence both physical and sexual.

Mr. Stark levied him with a piercing gaze, the exact look that had always made him feel so exposed and small in his youth. Finally the man sighed.

“I know you’re a good lad Theon, deep down. This isn’t what I would have wanted for you.” He shook his head tiredly. “In any case, I told Bolton as much: that you have no intention of pursuing the bond and saw no clear or incriminating memories in the soulshare. He likely doesn’t believe the latter, but what’s important is that he believes you’ll keep it to yourself.”

“So… that’s it?”

“I think the best thing you can do is try to carry on with your day to day. Just be careful, and be aware that your comings and goings might be… surveyed for a little while. At least until Roose Bolton is convinced you’re no threat.”

It seemed so simple. Not like Theon ever could be a threat to such a man.

“I appreciate your help, sir.” He toyed with the strap of his splint and stared at the stupid face Jon had drawn. “Do you think they might actually try to hurt me?”

“Someone may,” Mr. Stark said gravely. “The Boltons deal with many unsavory people. But you’re safe with us, and your family has… connections of its own that few would be willing to draw attention from.”

Theon had a feeling that Ned Stark approved of the Greyjoy family’s conduct about as much as he approved of the Boltons’, but kept his mouth shut on the matter. There were some things that they just did not talk about in the Stark house.

“I wouldn’t want to bring you any trouble,” Theon mumbled.

“None of this is your fault,” Mr. Stark said seriously. “You’re welcome to stay here if that makes you more comfortable. Robb’s mother will be happy to have him home, at least.”

“I appreciate it, sir.”

Even though it was true Theon couldn’t help but feel more than a little ashamed. Crawling to Ned Stark for help and protection from his own soulbond. His father would call him pathetic. A coward. Weak.

He would have called Theon all that and more once he heard about the soulbond itself. He could just imagine the look of disgust on the old man’s face when he learned…

Long after Ned Stark departed Theon continued to lay in the quiet solitude of his room, not feeling especially better or worse than before. He felt hollow. He felt unreal. Nothing about the situation made sense and so his mind had simply opted out of fully processing it.

Maybe that was for the best.

* * *

In the end Theon couldn’t get himself to stay in the Stark house for more than a few days.

It was stifling, living under the combined stares and curiosity of the kids along with Robb’s overly supportive concern. Not to mention he figured Mrs. Stark’s patience was bound to run out, already wearing thin from the moment her husband told her that they were risking Roose Bolton on Theon’s account.

The knowledge that he was probably being watched also spurred him on, deeply embarrassed at the notion that some spooks would be taking notes on how Theon Greyjoy was still hiding under Ned Stark’s roof.

Robb had assured him it was fine, that they could stay, that Theon could even move into Robb’s own apartment if that suited him better. It was sweet, really.

“I’m supposed to get on with my daily life,” Theon had said with an uncaring air. “Can’t do that with you fussing over me like an old maid.”

He did his best to play it off like it was no big deal, and with time he had even begun to believe it. Ramsay Bolton hadn’t told his father who his bonded was out of disgust and embarrassment, no doubt. After all his soulmate wound up being not only a man, but one he would’ve never in a million years wanted anything to do with.

Well fine. Good. If Bolton wanted to bury this under the rug and forget about it, they were at least in complete agreement. Not like Theon had ever thought about getting his hands on any cock, especially not one attached to a confirmed madman.

He could, and would, act like this never happened.

So Theon moved back into his apartment. The mess he lived in was a bit more apparent after an extended stay in the immaculate haven of the Stark house. He’d always enjoyed the freedom to live like a complete slob if he wanted, but his new lease of determination gave him just enough motive to throw his hoarded piles of dirty laundry into a wash.

He’d found a pair of fingerless gloves underneath the mess and slipped one over his left hand. He looked like a bit of a prick doing it one-sided like that, but once his splint came off in another week he’d look around for something more discreet. Armwarmers maybe.

The important thing was that obnoxious red mark stayed covered. Out of sight, out of mind.

He kept an eye out whenever he left the apartment for suspicious black cars or men in dark glasses (what did a corporate mercenary even look like, exactly?) and always came away feeling pretty ridiculous. The itch in the back of his mind that told him he was being watched persisted, but any fear had bled away into indignation.

Theon hadn’t asked for this, and like hell some Bolton nonsense was going to stop him from living his life. Thus he did what he always did when stressed out and in need of getting his head on straight:

He drove around by the sea, then went to a bar and found a girl.

She wasn’t his usual type. Taller than him for starters, if only just, with a sharp smile that made him feel a bit clumsy and awkward. Not a bright-eyed bubbly thing that laughed at all his jokes and hung on his every word.

That was fine. He could appreciate a girl without pretenses. She never even asked his name, let alone gave hers.

“What’s the story there?” She asked with a nod at his splint.

“Bar fight.”

“Let me guess - I should see the other guy.”

“Yeah.” Theon snorted. “Though I don’t know why anyone would want to.”

They walked back to her apartment, sneaking gropes and sly looks along the way. They had a pretty fantastic snog in the elevator and by the time they got to her door they were both raring to go.

She had sweet perfume and lacquered nails that she liked to dig into the nape of Theon’s neck. She was also strong, and the moment they were through the door she all but hauled him to her living room couch. From the way her hands were groping at his trousers it didn’t look like they’d be making it to the bed.

Theon had his good hand up her shirt, expertly undoing the clasp of her bra as she ground her hips into his lap. He’d just gotten the damn thing off and pushed her shirt up to her neck, ready to place his mouth on those breasts when-

“What the hell is that?”

It took a moment for the words to register through the lusty haze of Theon’s mind.

“Huh?”

The girl was scrambling off of him, practically shaking with rage. “What the _fuck _is _that?_”

Theon followed her gaze. He’d taken his glove off at some point so as to get his hands properly on her silken skin.

“Oh.” Theon grimaced at the offensively scarlet brand on his finger. “I guess it does kinda glow.”

The slap sent stars exploding across his vision, damn near knocking him off the couch.

“You’re _sick_,” she hissed. “Who the hell do you think you are? Cheating is one thing, but this… how vile can you be!?”

“Now listen- “

“So what, do you just run off to bars picking up chicks while your soulbond waits around, wondering where you’ve gone?” The girl angrily righted her shirt. “You should be ashamed!”

“It’s not like that!”

The last of his words were drowned out by the ear-wrenching screech of the apartment complex’s fire alarms going off. The girl growled and practically dragged him to his feet before steering him for the door.

“If you had a scrap of integrity in you, you’d go home and beg on your knees for their forgiveness,” she hissed, shoving him into the hall where her neighbors were trickling out from their apartments. “There are people who would _kill_ to have what you’ve got!”

She angrily brushed past him. He quickly lost sight of her in the procession of people heading for the exit stairs.

He miserably made his way back to his own building, ears still ringing from the scream of the fire alarms and the after-effects of being slapped. It was far from the first time a girl had taken a hand to him, but usually it at least happened _after_ the fucking.

He tried to find consolation in the idea that maybe Bolton had been screwed over as severely as he was. Maybe that girlfriend of his (Myranda, her name was Myranda and he still had Ramsay’s memory of fucking her gathering dust in his mind) had given him a bollocking too.

The lights were off when he got in. At first he thought the bulbs had blown out, but a flick of the switch debunked the notion. He must’ve hit them off without thinking about it on his way out that afternoon.

Theon dragged his feet to his room, carelessly kicking off his shoes as he flopped into bed. After all that, he wasn’t even in the mood to jerk off. His right hand was busted anyway; using his left would’ve been awkward, especially since it hardly felt like it belonged to him anymore.

The whole situation was just unholy. Not only was he probably being spied on most of the time, but his sex life (which was a very prominent feature of his life in general, thank you) was in danger. What was he supposed to do, short of cutting off his own finger, to make this go away?

* * *

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when the phone call came. He had after all been actively dreading it since the whole ordeal started.

“_Was there something you wanted to tell me?_”

Yara never bothered with greetings or preamble in her calls. It was always with a purpose and she didn’t waste time getting to it.

“Not really, no.” Theon had been in the middle of scraping a lunch together.

Apparently the painkillers had tampered with his head some, because he was finding utensils in the wrong drawers and missing items from the fridge that he couldn’t remember eating. The good news was that his splint had finally come off, even if the finger was still sore and couldn’t yet bend all the way.

_“Really. Nothing to do with that ugly glove Silas Pyke saw you wearing when you were sulking around the bay last week?”_

Theon hissed a curse as he fumbled his fork.

He didn’t even have the glove anymore, having dropped it on the floor of that girl’s apartment. These days he took to wrapping his mark in an adhesive bandage.

“Why the hell are you talking about me with Silas fucking Pyke?”

“_I’m not, really. Silas told Gevin who told Cessyl who told Sariya who told Harras who told me._”

Theon only knew who half of those people were but he could recognize the godsforsaken Harlaw gossip chain when he heard it. It was a little sad that he probably had a better internal map of the Stark family tree than his own mother’s, but he could hardly be blamed when the Harlaw clan was fucking massive.

“Brilliant. Do sailors have nothing better to do than titter on like teenage girls then? At this rate everyone on the islands is gonna know!”

_“Cessyl and Sariya _are_ teenage girls, but that’s not the point.” _Yara sighed. _“It’s true then? You went and found the sorry bitch that gets to be your bondmate.”_

Theon scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

_“With that attitude you’re either having a moan because she wants commitment or she’s ugly as sin. Which is it?”_

Theon was quiet. Telling Yara the truth would probably lead to her plowing her ship straight into the Bay of Ice and dragging him back to the islands by his ear.

“It’s a man alright?”

The less awful, but still embarrassing admission had worked at getting the Stark kids off his back, but the pause that greeted him was unimpressed.

“_Yeah?_” Yara asked expectantly. “_And?_”

“Come on, Yara…”

“_Theon you cannot be this fucking dense. How many women have you seen me fuck over the years?_”

Theon put his fork down, thoroughly put off his food. “We’ve all seen it Yara, on account of you apparently not knowing the use of a bloody door.”

_“Then what the hell is the problem?”_

He sighed heavily. “Does… does dad know?”

Silence.

_“No, Theon. I don’t know when he’ll find out, but. It won’t be from me.”_

“Thanks.”

_“Are you alright? You sound rough. Didn’t go catching soul sickness on me, did you?”_

Theon rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t call him on the lie even though she must have known. She always did.

“_I love you, little brother. You need to take care of yourself. Or God willing, have someone who can do it for you.”_

“There’s no god who’s _that_ good.” He meant it as a joke but the words were wry on his tongue. “I’ll see you around, sister.”

He left his phone on the counter with his abandoned food. The acceptance from his sister and the Starks was a mediocre balm for the turbulent feelings at war in him. He couldn’t help but feel a little resentful that a sexuality crisis was the least of his worries.

He should be allowed to freak out about having a male soulmate, and allowed to feel comforted by his families’ support instead of feeling like a dirty liar spinning half-truths. Even if Theon could want a man in that way, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Ramsay Bolton.

* * *

With his hand on the mend Theon threw himself back into routine. Nationals were just over three months away and he was religiously doing the exercises prescribed to regain full range on his index finger. It was still too soon however to subject it to the strain of drawing back a bowstring, so first thing on the agenda was getting a new trigger release.

He could’ve sworn he had one, but it must’ve gotten lost in the mess of his apartment at some point. The same went for his festering bundle of dirty gym clothes, which had apparently not been involved in his earlier exploits in laundry and was also officially missing. Theon wasn’t sure if he should blame the cluttered state of his home, or the fact that his half-assed attempt at cleaning had moved things about and made them harder to find.

In any case there was a decently equipped hunting goods store a little ways outside the city limits. The North remained the least developed region in the country, with only two proper cities and the forests of old left largely untouched. Theon supposed that was just what happened when your ancestral faith involved worshipping trees.

Theon didn’t like the woods - dirty, claustrophobic, disorienting - and he’d never used archery for anything more violent than bowfishing. The phantom memory of skinning a deer still turned his stomach, putting him even more thoroughly off the prospect than before.

Still, the environment being as it was it came as no surprise that there was a strong hunting community in the area. Theon walked past the displays of traps and knives to make straight for the bows and archery gear at the back.

He browsed around at bit before finding a handheld release of the same make as the one he’d lost. After a moment’s consideration he also grabbed a new pair of fingerless gloves from a rack by the rifles.

The guy at the counter nodded at him from over a fishing magazine. “That everything for you?”

“I’ve also got an order to pick up. Pack of arrow components under Greyjoy?”

The shop door gave a telltale jingle as it swung open.

“Sure. I’ll uh, go check in the back for that.”

“Yeah, alright.” Theon waved him off, absently examining the little tubes of arrow lube by the register. Could be useful, he supposed. He didn’t want to wrench his finger pulling arrows out of targets or something stupid like that.

The shop door clattered shut and Theon glanced over. Immediately he wished he hadn’t.

Ramsay Bolton had just walked in with a handful of his friends. The group was clearly gearing up for some kind of outing, all of them wearing heavy boots and some form of camo-print. While the other guys milled around the store laughing and bantering amongst themselves, Bolton was lingering by the entryway with one of the largest dogs Theon had ever seen.

Fight, flight and freeze all collided in Theon’s brain at once. He could leave. He _should _leave. Just come back another day for his stuff. Order online, even.

Bolton was between him and the exit. Should he play it aggressive? That hadn’t exactly worked out the first time, but Theon was nothing if not stubborn to a fault.

In the end he did absolutely nothing but sweat as Bolton sauntered his way over, casual as anything. His dark Caucasian Shepherd was unleashed (surely that couldn’t be legal) but followed perfectly at his heels without needing to be beckoned or even looked at.

Theon had spent his share of time being bowled over by the Stark’s pack of overgrown Malamutes, so he was no stranger to large hounds. However he knew exactly what Bolton’s beasts were bred for and capable of.

“Well,” Bolton said, sidling up far too close for comfort. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Theon could practically feel the heat of him and had to stop himself from shrinking against the counter. Even as Bolton gestured at his hand, those pale eyes didn’t once leave Theon’s own.

“How’s the finger?”

Theon scowled. “How’s the face?”

“Fine.”

“_Fine_.”

There was a tense pause, at least on Theon’s end, as Bolton leisurely looked him up and down. It felt disquietingly like he was being appraised.

“You know,” Bolton said, his voice having a light, offhand quality to it that somehow screamed of danger. “I’m not sure what I expected. One does hear all sorts of things about your lot, after all.”

“What’s that supposed so mean?”

“Just that I don’t expect your daddy knows how much time you’ve spent crying into Robb Stark’s shoulder,” Bolton said, words dripping in cruel sweetness. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

Theon actually felt the blood drain from his face. Those were his moments, his _private_ moments, that Bolton was mocking. He couldn’t help but feel irrationally betrayed, though by whom or what he wasn’t sure.

“Well maybe I should thank you for getting in my face that night,” he said, jaw tight to keep his voice from shaking. “Turns out your girlfriend’s a lousy lay."

Bolton’s brow twitched. “I suppose you think you can do better?”

Theon opened to his mouth to respond but his retort died in his throat. He’d been about to brag that yes, he could and had in fact found better sex without even trying - before it occurred to him that might not have been what Bolton meant.

Theon’s teeth clicked as he snapped his jaw closed. He wordlessly reached over to frantically chime the little service bell on the counter. How long did it take to pick up a man’s order, for fuck’s sake?

Faintly, he thought he could hear voices whispering beyond the Employee’s Only door.

_ “I’m not going out there, you deal with him!” _

_ “I did it last time! You want to explain to him why he was kept waiting?” _

“What in the hell…?”

His attention was recaptured by fingers snapping obnoxiously in his periphery.

“Did you just _snap_ at me?” Theon demanded. “Like a fucking dog?”

“My dogs are better trained than you are,” Bolton said dryly. “Guess it’s not surprising. One can only expect so much from strays.”

“Excuse me?“

“Oh, you mean you’re not some wayward mutt begging for the Stark’s scraps? Good to know.”

“Go to hell,” Theon said, knuckles white as he gripped the counter. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Bolton’s eyes briefly flicked downwards. “Hurt yourself, did you?”

“What?” Theon glanced at his left hand, the pinky still wrapped in a beige plaster.

At long last an employee, different from the one before, emerged from the storeroom. His face was flushed and eyes hunted.

“Hi there. I’m uh, sorry for the wait.” He placed a wide, flat box on the counter, the forced smile on his face becoming even more strained as he took in Bolton’s presence.

“Can I help you find something, sir?”

Bolton ignored him completely in favor of grasping Theon’s wrist.

“Hey! What’re you-”

He gave a token struggle, but his body remembered what happened the last time this psycho grabbed his hand and the memory caused his whole arm to lock up and go rigid. He watched in stunned horror as Bolton very slowly and casually unpeeled the bandage to expose the vibrant mark underneath.

Theon was hyperaware of every point of contact, every touch of Bolton’s fingers on his skin. It felt like static building between them, and that any minute now something was going to spark. He faintly noted that the other man’s own brand was completely uncovered and unhidden, marking his right pinky.

He remembered hearing Old Nan say that having the mark on your dominant hand meant you'd be the dominant partner in a marriage. He'd found the notion ridiculous then and found it offensive now.

“There we are. Isn’t that better?” Bolton carelessly flicked the bandage onto the floor.

It took Theon several seconds to try and fail to find his voice. He finally gave up and cast a baffled, desperate look at the employee. The man thankfully got the message and began rattling off the prices, wide eyes drifting from the till to the strange display taking place.

Theon snatched his hand back and went to grab his wallet. Bolton was already holding his own card out to the register.

“I’ll pay for it,” he said with great indifference.

“Uh, no you won’t.” Theon turned to the cashier. “He won’t.”

The poor guy glanced between them, sweating bullets with fingers nervously drumming the counter.

“M-maybe you can split it?”

Bolton turned to look at him for the first time. “Excuse me?”

“I only meant-“ The employee swallowed. With an apologetic glance Theon’s way he wordlessly took the card from Bolton’s hand and began to ring up the items.

Theon thought his jaw might hit the floor.

“Oh no, not the gloves. He won’t be getting those,” Bolton said airily.

“I’ll buy what I want,” Theon snapped, still clutching his wallet.

Bolton fixed the cashier with an icy stare. “I won’t repeat myself.”

“You can’t just tell them not to sell me something!” Theon said furiously. “Who the hell do you think you are!?”

Bolton met his gaze and Theon felt his stomach drop. The man’s face was suddenly utterly blank - it was like a veil had been pulled behind those winter eyes, wiping his features clean and obscuring all of his inner workings. The void had never been so frightening, and something primal told Theon that it was just Not Right.

“I don’t think, Greyjoy,” Bolton said calmly. “I know. And I thought you knew too.”

Theon couldn’t help but lean back slightly. What was he doing, arguing with this mad man? He’d peered through Bolton’s eyes as he stabbed a human being in the throat and watched his life bleed out within arm's reach. The dream with its roulette of memories didn’t feel wholly real, but it had been. Ramsay Bolton had done all those things, had thought and felt all those sadistic thoughts and feelings. Theon should know better.

Bolton took the receipt and ripped it in half. On the strip that didn’t include the barcode, he scrawled a phone number.

“What’s that for?”

Bolton sardonically raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were quite this stupid.”

“I know what it is asshole, what do you expect me to do with it?” Theon said irritably. “Didn’t… didn’t your dad tell you-”

“What, that you went crying to Ned Stark? Yes, I’ve been told.” Bolton rolled his eyes. “I _suppose_ this is for whenever you decide to be a man and talk things through with me like an adult. Not that I’m holding my breath.”

Bolton slipped his number into the bag with the purchases, sans gloves. At this point whatever got Theon out of this store faster was good enough for him.

He took the bag angrily. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He moved to brush past but was stopped by a hand on his abdomen. Immediately the muscles in his stomach gave an involuntary clench, something Bolton could undoubtedly feel through Theon’s shirt.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” Bolton asked softly, lips uncomfortably close to Theon’s ear. “I didn’t take Theon Greyjoy for a coward.”

Theon’s grip tightened on his bag. “Most would call it being _sensible_.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Bolton jeered as Theon shoved free from his hold.

Theon avoided the eyes of Bolton’s crew as he pushed through the shop and out the front door, bell chiming behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I don't know how to write a oneshot. I have a whole other fic I want out by Halloween so this should get relatively rapid updates.
> 
> Also some trivia is that whenever I namedrop OCs, they are always characters from my aSoIaF tabletop campaigns.


	2. Chapter 2

Every second of the encounter in the hunting store was doomed to play on endless repeat through Theon’s mind.

What the hell had all that been about? Bolton had insulted him for fifteen straight minutes, then paid for his shopping. Had all but scolded him for covering up his mark. Had given him his _number_.

What the fuck. _What the fuck_.

“He’s screwing with my head,” Theon murmured to himself. “Asshole’s having a great laugh at my expense, is what it is.”

It was beyond conception that Bolton actually wanted him. The very idea was ridiculous. From what Theon had gleaned there was very little by way of affection in Ramsay Bolton’s mind. Pride, yes. Possession, yes. One didn’t need sentiment to be territorial.

Theon shuddered. He always felt like wearing gloves when he rifled through Bolton’s thoughts and memories, afraid to get too close or actually touch anything. Not like he was afforded the same courtesy - he bet the bastard combed through every stolen scene and eavesdropped thought with voyeuristic fervor.

Well. He wasn’t going to be some toy for Bolton to play with and pull apart, that was for damn sure.

He had other things to worry about anyway.

Theon was about ready to kick the painkillers. He’d never been one to hurry himself off the good stuff, but he was getting damn sick of losing track of where all his belongings were. He had items missing, items moved, the quantities in his pantry fluctuating when his back was turned. It was ridiculous.

He had receipts in his wallet as well for excursions he didn’t recall going on. The purchases themselves were nothing strange - beer runs, groceries, corner store candy stops and the like - he just couldn’t remember making them.

Odd deliveries had also begun to show up at his door in the past two weeks. The unexpected packages contained completely random items. A pack of unscented body wash here, a dog bowl there, then an anthology of Northern fables. He’d paged through the last one and found it to contain only the original, uncensored tales that were all blood and loss and cruel endings. The stuff Old Nan would tell the kids to scare them straight and give them nightmares.

It was Theon’s name on the parcels and his card being charged, so at first he thought it was the strangest instance of fraud ever (who stole a card to buy someone else stuff?) but then he got into his online shopping accounts and saw that he’d actually made the purchases. At least according to his order history.

He contacted the company reporting the mistake and was told he could return most of the items for a refund. The agent had advised him with her words to change his password, but with her tone to maybe stop going online whilst drunk.

Fair enough.

* * *

Theon had already been halfway out when there was a knock on his door. He clumsily finished wrestling on his shoes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” He swung the door open, keys in hand.

“Well a good morning to you too,” Sansa said, raising an arched brow at him.

She was wearing a burgundy starched dress and black leggings, her hair and face perfectly made up.

“Uh. Good morning?”

Theon glanced up and down the hallway. It wouldn’t be the first time Robb dropped by with one of the siblings in tow, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“You forgot.” Sansa pouted. “I texted you just the other night, asking if you’d let me come with for your photoshoot!”

“You did?”

“_Yes_! And you said it was fine!” Sansa rolled her eyes. “I swear you’ve been so out of it lately, ever since your mark showed up.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve had a lot going on.”

Theon thumbed through his messages and sure enough he found the alleged exchange buried in his phone: Sansa asking if she could tag along, and his rather uninspired ‘sure’.

“I figured. Because your soulmate is Ramsay Bolton, right?”

Theon’s head snapped up so quick his neck cracked. “Robb told you!?”

She looked at him with something like pity. “Oh honey, everyone’s heard. The girls at the salon were even talking about it when I was getting my nails done.”

“_What?”_

“Someone saw you two together,” Sansa said with a shrug. “You know how people talk. When it’s something worth talking about, anyway.”

Theon floundered. Unless Bolton himself was telling everyone he knew, the only thing he could think of was that incident in the hunting shop. The employees must’ve told.

“I don’t have time for this.”

He pulled his door shut behind him, locking it deftly.

“I think it’s just fascinating,” Sansa said, heels clacking as she kept pace with him down the hall. “Like one of those old stories, where the fair maid is bonded to the evil king and tries to save the kingdom through their love.”

Theon was pretty sure he’d read that story in his eerie new book. It didn’t end well.

“Ramsay Bolton is a beast, of course,” Sansa was saying as she followed Theon to his car, disgust briefly flashing across her face at the fast food wrappers. “But there must be something redeemable about him if he’s bonded to you.”

“I guess I’m meant to find that flattering.” Theon groused, pulling onto the road.

“Of course. You’re a bit of a cad yourself, but still a decent man deep down,” Sansa said confidently. “Robb’s always said so, even when you were downright intolerable.”

“Thanks.”

“And studies do find that the empathetic and mental connection between bondmates is statistically significant. They say it’s what causes soul sickness.”

Theon snorted. “Soul sickness isn’t real.”

Different cultures and religions had different stories for how the soul marks came to be, but in the end it boiled down to the same general concept: some god of evil split mankind’s souls in two; a benevolent deity created the red thread so the halves could find each other again. It often came with a cautionary tale of how denying your bond was a crime against the soul, the gods and destiny itself.

“That’s not true! They’ve found that people who spend too much time away from their soulmate have higher levels of anxiety and stress, they have trouble sleeping, some get sick or start hearing things-“

“Psychosomatic,” Theon said shortly. “No one actually goes crazy because they rejected their soul bond, unless they were already crazy to start with. It’s just another nan’s tale.”

“If you say so,” Sansa said. “Out of curiosity, what did you imagine your soulmate would be like?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh come on, everyone has.”

Theon gave a one-sided shrug. “I dunno. Low maintenance, high sex drive and smoking hot.”

“Charming."

“You asked.”

“Neural and hormonal monitoring _do_ show that bonded sex is demonstrably far more pleasurable-“

“That is absolutely not something we need to talk about!” Theon said, nearly running a stoplight. “Why do you know all this shit anyway!?”

“Oh calm down. He’s not terrible in one department, at least,” Sansa said airily.

“Eh?”

“Bolton. You don’t think so?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Ha! Never thought I’d hear Theon Greyjoy say appearances don’t matter.” Sansa looked at him knowingly. “Admit it. He’s like, a platonic ideal of Northern looks. Well-cut, snow white skin and raven dark hair. Eyes like-“

“Yes, alright, he’s _fit_!” Theon shouted, exasperation finally boiling over.

There was only so much a man could take.

“Of course he is! What did you expect? That there was a snowball’s chance in seven hells that the other half of my soul _wouldn’t _be choice?”He snorted in disbelief. “Don’t be _ridiculous.”_

There was silence as they waited several agonizing seconds for the light to go green.

“Alright,” Sansa said carefully. “And the other half of your soul also just happens to be a well-known sadistic psychopath.”

“Yeah,” Theon sighed, feeling deflated. “…That’s a problem.”

* * *

It had taken Theon a while to get around to it, but eventually he had forced himself to call his agent and report the change.

He had gotten himself a black hematite ring just wide enough to cover his soul mark and he wore it constantly, even to bed and in the shower. It wound up being far less conspicuous or cumbersome than gloves in that regard, but he couldn’t count on wearing it to work.

Soul marks were notoriously difficult to cover and keep covered by cosmetics. It was less effort to photoshop them out, but even that was more effort than finding a model for which it wasn’t necessary in the first place. After he came clean it was to Theon’s mild surprise that he got a call two days later about a job: a high-budget shoot for some ritzy Dornish cologne that he had never even smelled before because it probably sold into the hundreds by the ounce.

It did make a certain amount of sense. Soul brands were a rare, powerful symbol within the public consciousness, and that made them profitable. In the end his mark was just another feature of his body that Baelish could use to sell a product.

Even so, Theon had carved out a comfortable niche for himself in the agency and the last thing he needed was to be boxed into capitalizing off of his soul brand.

Baelish ran the most prominent modeling agency in the country and it wasn’t rare for him to haunt the backgrounds of major shoots. He typically lurked behind the photographers, giving criticism or direction and generally setting most of the staff on edge. Disquieting as he was, Theon had spent his share of time being glowered at by regal, disapproving older men, and Baelish didn’t scare him as much as those that had come before.

Theon found him at the edge of the set, watching as staff placed last minute touches and fiddled with the lighting.

“Mr. Baelish?” Theon coughed. “I uh-“

“Nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Greyjoy,” Baelish said, not even turning to look at him. “I would have thought that after that… last minute surprise you dropped on us, you’d be a little more eager to please.”

Theon frowned. “It was pretty short notice for me too.”

No one needed to know it’d happened a month ago.

“At least in this case it suits our purposes.” Baelish took hold of Theon’s wrist, rotating it like just another prop. “Hm. You’re one of my favorites, you know.”

Theon did his best to look humbled, despite the man still not having looked him in the face once during this whole exchange. Nothing out of Baelish’s mouth could be considered sincere.

“Very few Ironborn in this industry, which is a shame. Your lot have a very distinct bone structure. Unique features.”

That at least was true. There was a vaguely defined but still recognizable ‘look’ that many of the islanders shared. It took a little bit of skill to identify an Ironborn from a group of Northmen but it could be done. Theon supposed that centuries of aggressive cultural insulation and supplementing the gene pool with stolen foreigners just did that to a region.

“Notoriously ill-natured too, which gives an aspect of the unattainable.” Baelish continued, unceremoniously releasing him. “It’s why I thought this shoot would be such a good opportunity for you.”

“I’m very grateful sir,” Theon said flatly.

He’d heard those exact words before, mainly when Baelish was trying to cajole him into doing softcore porn (“you’re a glamour model Greyjoy, you already do softcore porn” not withstanding). He had been trying to slide more risqué projects Theon’s way for years, but the day Theon did a nude shoot would likely be the day his father finally tried to legally force him to change his name. He was treading thin ice as it was.

“Anyway. I just thought I’d let you know I’ve brought one of my friends along-“

“This is a place of business Mr. Greyjoy, not a museum,” Baelish said, turning away. “You can impress your lady friends on your own time.”

“Well it’s not -“ Theon sighed. “It’s just my foster sister. She aims to be a fashion designer and only wants to see how it all works, you know, production and all that-“

“Theon!” Sansa suddenly careened into his side and clutched his arm excitedly. “This is so cool. I just talked to a girl who worked for _Dragonglass_ magazine and she’s met _everyone_.”

“That’s fine, just try and stay out of the way alright? People are working.”

“Mr. Greyjoy,” Baelish said firmly. “That is no way to speak to an eager newcomer to the industry.”

“But you said-“

“Why don’t you go and get yourself ready.” Baelish waved him off dismissively, giving Sansa his full attention. “I’d be _more_ than happy to show you around and answer all your questions.”

At that moment one of the assistants materialized out of the shadows, pulling Theon out of Sansa’s grip and dragging him towards the makeup station.

* * *

The set was a seductive, dimly-lit pool that had been made up to look like some kind of lagoon. The water glowed a deep indigo from the interior lighting and they must have rigged up some dry ice machines, sending plumes of smoke curling about the surface.

Theon was only in a white button-up and dark briefs, which set off no alarms since he’d be submerged from the waist down. He’d done pin-ups and modeled underwear before. So long as Baelish didn’t have him exiled from Pyke for any of his raunchy calendar projects, it was fine.

They got him in the pool and he uttered a divine thanks that it wasn’t ice cold. Wouldn’t be the first time they made him wade around in frigid water and pretend he wasn’t going numb. His wet shirt instantly clung to his body and he allowed the attendants to tug and adjust it as needed. They would start with solos, then the other model would arrive for the pair shots.

Baelish continued to hover behind the camera, Sansa at his elbow as he muttered to the photographer and analyzed Theon’s every move. It looked like he was explaining to her the dynamics of lighting and set design, and was the most expressive Theon had ever seen the man.

“Move your hand a little higher,” the photographer directed, peering at him through the camera. “We need to position your love mark more prominently.”

Theon twitched. Of all the euphemisms he’d heard for his brand, he might have hated that one the most.

“A little less anger if you could, Mr. Greyjoy,” Baelish said, looking punchably amused.

Theon sighed and made an effort to loosen his stance, calmed somewhat by the water on his skin. While it may have been his novelty that got him hired in the first place, at the end of the day he was still a damn good model. He’d never been insecure about his looks and he had faking a smile down to an art form. It was also cathartic, in a way, to channel certain emotions through body language that he’d never be able to voice aloud.

Thinking about the latest disbursement of money in his account helped. A job like this would be his biggest payout since he posed in leather on the hood of that Braavosi sports car last year.

Eventually Baelish seemed satisfied and they were able to call a break. Theon waded to the edge of the pool so that the attendants could fuss with his hair and touch up his face.

Sansa fluttered up to the poolside with a wide grin. “That was so good! I can’t believe I’ve never seen you work before. It was like you became a totally different person.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I am! Mr. Baelish knows everything and everyone about this business. He even says he can get me an internship!” She was practically bouncing in place.

“Modeling?”

“Ha! Mom and dad would never allow it.” She shook her head. “No, it’s for _Courtesan_. I had no idea he owned it.”

“He owns a lot of things,” Theon said.

He’d done photoshoots for _Courtesan_ before, and for a high fashion magazine they sure hadn’t given him much clothes to wear.

“You know Sansa, this industry, it’s a bit… it can be a bit brutal.”

“Oh, Theon.” She tsked at him affectionately. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

At that moment Baelish appeared to press a coffee into Sansa’s hand.

“We’re just about ready to resume,” he said. “Greyjoy, meet Sand.”

“Huh?”

It was perhaps an oversight on Theon’s part that when told he was doing a shoot with another model, he assumed it would be a woman.

Sand was not a woman. He was a very tall, bronze demigod of a man with honey eyes. Slowly the dots connected in Theon’s brain.

Dornish luxury product. Pair shoot.

Oh.

“No problem, is there?” Baelish asked, brow raised.

“No,” Theon said, not very convincingly.

“Good.” With a last pointed look, the man stepped away to talk with the photographer.

Sansa was back at Theon’s side in a flash. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know you freaked out over having a male soulmate-“

“That was more about the soulmate in question than anything else,” Theon hissed. “And I did not freak out!”

“Uh huh.” Sansa looked at him doubtfully.

“I’m fine. It’s not like I haven’t done this before with female models.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am!”

With a final furtive glance Sansa drifted back to the edge of the set.

Theon cleared his throat and nodded at the other model as he climbed into the pool.

“Theon.”

“Addam.”

They clasped hands as casually as two half-naked men in a pool probably could do when meeting for the first time.

Theon tried to imagine what he’d do with a girl, but it was bit difficult when the other model had about four inches and fifty pounds on him.

“If my dad sees this he’s going to put a hit out on me,” Theon murmured as the photographer directed them into position.

Addam looked unsure if he was meant to laugh or not. “Do you think he will? See it, I mean.”

“Probably not.” He was pretty sure it’d take the old man at least a week to notice if Theon _died_. A little gay for pay would hardly trip the radar. “But word travels quick on the islands. Everyone knows everyone.”

“I can imagine. Big family?”

“Huge.”

Not that Theon actually knew more than a handful of his cousins. The memories he did have of Harras idling uncomfortably on the sidelines as Rodrik and Maron smacked him around were no great treasure either.

In the end they wound up with Addam’s hands on Theon’s hips and the small of his back; Theon with one hand curled around the back of the other man’s neck and the other splayed prominently on his bicep to display his mark.

The other man’s skin was slick and warm against Theon’s own. His traitorous brain couldn’t help but wonder if Bolton’s hands would feel anything like this. They’d probably be rougher, calloused. Not so hesitant and polite.

“You okay? You’ve gone kinda red.”

“Yep. Great."

“Greyjoy, try to loosen up will you?” Baelish said wryly. “You look like a virgin on her wedding night.”

Theon felt himself bristle with indignation. The blow to his pride was what he needed to put his head in the game however; even if it was for no other reason than getting the ordeal over and done with. By the time Addam was directed to lower further into the water so that Theon could straddle his hips, a white noise had thoroughly clouded his brain.

He’d been modeling for years and had never felt more like a piece of meat.

When it was finally done with he moved as if in a haze. He dried and dressed himself, shook hands and bid farewells on automatic. He led Sansa - still babbling about how fascinating the shoot was and great the pictures looked and how excited she was for her internship - back to the car.

He dropped her off at her friend’s apartment, numb as she pecked him on the cheek and bid him goodnight.

He sat in his car for a long while, staring vacantly out his windshield. He slowly, mechanically reached into his bag and pulled out his phone.

It rang twice before Robb picked up.

“_Hey, I was just about to text you. How was the photoshoot?”_

He said nothing and took a deep, shaking breath.

“_Theon? Is everything alright?”_

He cleared his throat. “I think I might not be straight.”

There was a long pause.

“_Oh, Theon…” _A sigh. _“I’m coming over.”_

* * *

Robb just made everything better. He didn’t even have to try, but he did anyway because he was just that kind of guy.

He was already waiting in the apartment by the time Theon arrived home, take-out pizza and a pack of beer set upon the kitchen counter. It was like heaven.

“God, why couldn’t you have been my bond.”

Theon had spent a fair amount of time searching around on the internet for some glimmer of hope and unfortunately there was very little by way of ‘my soulmate is a murderous madman, please advise’. Information on abusive bonds was a bit more robust, but so depressing it only made him feel worse. Platonic ones seemed relatively common, but he couldn’t imagine ever being Bolton’s friend.

Robb laughed and dragged him into a hug. “You seemed like you needed some cheering up.”

They lay around eating garbage and watching bad movies from their childhood, not really breaching the matter at hand. That was fine. Usually talking only made Theon feel worse, not better; what helped most was having Robb there and knowing he wasn’t alone. He had long ago realized that he was embarrassingly insecure about such things, no doubt riddled with abandonment issues courtesy of dear ol’ dad.

A few hours and several beers in, they were piled together on the couch. It reminded him of teenage nights spent sloppy in the basement, slumped on an old sofa so that Mrs. Stark wouldn’t see they’d been drinking.

“Sansa thinks there might be something decent about him. Since he’s mine.” Theon made a face at his own awkward wording.

“Sansa thinks the world is like a story,” Robb said sleepily. “She always has.”

“Maybe it is. Just not a good one,” Theon said. “Must be one of those stories where everyone winds up dead or cursed by the end.”

“I dunno if I’d go that far.” Robb paused. “And I don’t know Bolton, I just know what he does. I don’t want him to hurt you. You’re my best mate. I love you.”

Theon wordlessly squeezed his hand and they lay just like that, in silence for what could have been either seconds or several minutes.

“I really do wish it’d been you,” Theon mumbled into the cushions.

“Bro.”

“It happens, you know? Soulmates who stay friends.” He yawned. “We’d’ve been good at that.”

“Hngh. Yeah we would’ve.” Robb clumsily patted him on the chest. “You’ve still got me, buddy. Forever’n always.”

* * *

The archery range had always been a place for Theon to escape to during his time in the North, especially when making the drive to the coast wasn’t feasible.

The outdoor shooting range was extensive, elaborate and open late - just one of those things he had the Northern hunting community to thank for. He didn’t think anything remotely similar even existed in all of the Iron Islands.

It was a clear autumn night and he was positioned on an elevated platform installed into a moderately sized tree, taking aim at a wooden deer forty meters out. He loosed the arrow with a click of the release and heard the satisfying _fwip-thud_ of it sinking into the statue’s flank.

“I don’t imagine you’ve ever shot down anything real with that.”

Theon nearly fell straight out of his perch, knees barely straddling the platform for stability. He tightened his grip on his bow.

“Awful bold of you, sneaking up on an armed man.”

He heard Bolton shrug, the water-resistant fabric of his jacket rustling.

“Of course it’s very different, hunting a living thing,” Bolton carried on. “You have to account for her hearing, the wind and if she can smell you. You time the shot by the space of her breathing and yours. And of course if you don’t take her in the head, a single shot won’t kill her.”

Theon swallowed, palms beginning to sweat in his grips. “Well I’m not a hunter. This is just a hobby.”

“Most don’t have the stomach for it,” Bolton agreed. “Funny. I would say it’s actually more ethical, eating what you’ve killed yourself. It’s like taking responsibility, isn’t it? Moreso than just buying it in a pack from the slaughterhouse.”

“Let’s not pretend that you care about ethics.”

“That’s fair.” A pause. “Are you going to come down from there or are we going to have this conversation with you in a fucking tree?”

“We’re not having a conversation.” Theon loosed another arrow into a wooden turkey at sixty meters.

“Oh? Then what’d you call me here for?”

Theon nearly misfired. “_Excuse_ me?”

He heard the crunch of dead leaves as Bolton circled the tree, the glare of a phone screen bright and pointed in Theon’s face.

“You called me, Greyjoy. Granted you sounded drunk as all hell, but you said you wanted to talk.”

Theon frowned and dug his phone from his jacket pocket. In his call history was an outgoing dial of a number he didn’t recognize. It made little sense, since the receipt with Bolton’s number had been crumpled and trashed the instant he got home that day. Hadn’t it?

His memory had been failing him lately.

“… I don’t remember doing that.”

“Well as I said, you did seem rather impaired. Long night with _Robb Stark_, was it?”

“Are you fucking stalking me, Bolton?”

Bolton looked at him blandly. “Yes? I mean, obviously. We did tell you that we would be.”

Theon opened and closed his mouth, the aborted beginnings of various declarations flitting through his brain. He wasn’t wrong, but _still._

“Don’t be so scandalized. Now that people know about us, it’s more necessary than ever. You realize it reflects rather poorly on my family if we can’t keep you from getting snatched and gutted.”

“There is no _us_!” Theon hissed. “Just - just leave me alone, alright?”

Bolton looked at him with that unnatural, empty stare. “Are you coming down or not?”

“No!”

“Fine.”

He disappeared from view, followed by the wooden groan of someone climbing the slats that had been nailed to the tree as a ladder. Theon’s whole body went as tense as the bowstring under his hand. The platform suddenly felt very, very small.

He stubbornly did not turn around as the ledge creaked with Bolton’s weight. Not even when he felt the glow of body heat along with the faintest brush of fabric against his back.

“This is cozy.”

It was spoken far too close to the back of Theon’s neck, causing the hairs there to stand on end. He made an effort to steady his breathing.

“… I think I hate you.”

Bolton hummed against his ear. “I don’t mind.”

“Then what the hell do you want from me?”

“That is a rather good question.” He casually perched his chin on Theon’s shoulder, eliciting a flinch. “I do admit that this whole situation has taken me quite by surprise. Maybe I’m curious. Maybe I’m a closet romantic.”

Theon choked on his tonsils as heavy hands settled on his waist.

“Or _maybe,_” the grip flexed, “I don’t like seeing what’s _mine_ running all over town for everyone to put their filthy hands on.”

A spark of genuine panic licked down Theon’s spine.

“That's your problem. I don’t belong to you.” The words did not come out as confident as he had hoped.

“Agree to disagree. You’re _my_ bonded, _my_ other half. Ergo, mine.” Bolton said lowly. “And I don’t much appreciate your conduct, Greyjoy.”

A strangled noise escaped Theon’s throat. “I can’t give you what you want. The things you do, your family. I’m not-“

“Not what? Gods you’re embarrassing. I can hardly believe it, Theon Greyjoy getting on my ass about my family business.” Bolton snorted. “Some Ironborn you turned out to be.”

“That - oh, fuck you!” Theon ineffectually jabbed an elbow into the mass behind him.

“You think that precious sister of yours hasn’t killed before? That there isn’t blood dripping off your daddy’s hands? All your crazy fucking uncles? That your family fortunes are all fishing and shipping and goddamn publishing companies? Get real.” Bolton’s fingers were digging into Theon’s hips. “At least I own what I am. I kill for my meat; I don’t pull the wool over my own eyes because someone out of sight and out of mind brought the blade down for me.”

“Stop it-“

“So your knickers are in a twist because I enjoy it, big deal. At the end of the day I’m still serving my house. What hell are you doing? Acting like you’re so damn proud of what you are when you’ve taken every opportunity to run as fast and far from it as you could.”

Theon was trembling and it wasn’t from the cold. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right for Bolton to just pick through his history and insecurities like that.

“How much did you see in the soulshare?” Theon asked faintly.

“I saw enough. Not that I needed to.” Bolton chuffed a laugh into Theon’s neck. “You’re an easy read.”

“Well if I’m so bloody pathetic, why the hell are you here?”

“I said you were an easy read, not a bad one. Bit of a miserable cunt, aren’t you? I find it compelling really. There’s something workable underneath those insufferable airs you put on. That’s good. The worst thing you could’ve been was boring,” Bolton said. “In fact, I think I might be _just_ what you need.”

Theon grimaced. He didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“How so?”

“You’ll see for yourself. Now,” Bolton gave him a nudge. “Go on then. You came here for a reason. Impress me.”

Theon felt Bolton withdraw slightly, though those hands were still settled on his hips.

Theon sighed heavily in an attempt to exhale the jitters from his body. The night air was cool and still, laced with the scents of autumn.

His arms were tense as he drew back in practiced motion. His pulse thudded in his ears and he used it as a metronome while he counted his breaths. He squeezed the trigger release and it was a smooth glide as the arrow flew between the trees.

It arced gracefully through the air before making its descent. In the silence they could just about hear it when the arrow sank into the neck of a wooden wolf a full ninety meters in the distance.

“_Well_,” Bolton breathed. “Now you’ve got me excited.”

Then those hands began to _move _and Theon’s thin veneer of calm shattered. He thoughtlessly lurched away, reflexively twisting from the touch.

And then he fell out of the tree.

It was about a ten foot drop, the wind knocked from his chest on impact despite the damp crash mat hidden beneath the leaves. After a split second’s delay a rain of arrows tumbled after him.

“You alright there?” Bolton’s voice was thick with restrained laughter. “That looked painful.”

Theon rolled over and groaned in response.

The other man snickered as he descended the ladder, approaching to loom over Theon’s form. He easily tugged Theon’s ring free from his little finger and tossed it somewhere into the bramble.

“Yes,” he dusted his hands off, winter eyes bright with mirth. “I do think you’ll keep, Theon Greyjoy.”

But what Theon heard was _I’ll keep you._

* * *

It wasn’t until they were drinking coffee from a stall vendor that Theon realized with horrifying clarity that this could have been mistaken for a date. Which couldn’t have been true, because he was still very much Not Speaking to Ramsay Bolton.

“This isn’t going to happen again,” he said firmly.

“And after you called me here, too.” Bolton didn’t seem especially surprised nor bothered. “What a tease.”

That was another problem.

Theon didn’t remember doing it, he couldn’t imagine doing it, but the proof was there in his own call history. He’d gone and drunk dialed Ramsay Bolton and asked to meet him. How mortifying.

It was all the more disquieting how bizarrely familiar being with him was. They were strangers by all accounts; should have been enemies based on their first meeting alone (Theon didn’t want to think about what might have happened to him after that bar fight if the marks hadn’t shown up). Yet he felt like he knew Bolton. Although nothing he’d seen in the soulshare had been any good, Theon couldn’t help but feel like he still wasn’t as scared as he should have been.

And yet.

It was hard not to despair somewhat over the state of things. People were looking at him differently now around town. Baristas and corner store employees he’d seen for years now seemed almost pained when dealing with him. He would bump into old hookups in bars and watch them shrink away from him like he had something infectious.

“Is this ever going to blow over?” He found himself asking, already feeling stupid for reaching out to this man for comfort. “I just want my life to go back to the way it was.”

Bolton looked at him dully. “That’s a nasty habit.”

“What?”

“Asking questions you don’t want the answer to. It’s not a sound practice.”

“I suspect with you I’m better off not asking questions at all,” Theon sneered. “So what, you want to make a fucking mob wife out of me? Where I cover my eyes and ears to everything that I know you are?”

“By all means do, but don’t let it be on my account,” Bolton said. “I can see you like to live in denial for most things, so if you extend it to me I shan’t be too offended. Might get stale after a while, though.”

“I can’t imagine the alternative.”

Bolton rolled his eyes. “I can see you’re going to be difficult. You’ll learn.”

He plucked the empty cup from Theon’s hand without waiting for a reply.

“Good luck at nationals. I’d go to see it in person, but I have work to do. I’ll be sure to watch it on the telly in any case.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m sure I’ll do great with the job you’ve done on my finger,” Theon sniped.

“Of course you will. You’re going to place, at least.” Bolton tossed their cups into the nearby bin.

“Oh, you see the future now do you?”

“No. You’re going to place because I told you to,” Bolton said, slow and plain like one would to a child. “You’d like to make me _proud_, wouldn’t you?”

Theon’s stomach did a flip. He again wondered what it would take for Bolton to fess up exactly what he had seen in the soulshare. The other man probably got off on keeping Theon in suspense over just how much he knew.

One of Theon’s little shameful secrets was that he had always wanted to make someone proud. His father, his sister, the Starks… He pretended that he couldn’t care less, but there were few things he cared about more.

His throat felt tight. “You fight dirty.”

Bolton smiled and it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You have no idea.”

“Just what makes you think I give a good god damn about your approval?”

“You will,” Bolton said easily, head tilted at a thoughtful angle. “You’ll like me best when I’m agreeable.”

“Uh, that’s a low bar to-“

Bolton silenced him by fully zipping Theon’s collar up in a casual, but pointed gesture.

“… And I’m afraid you won’t like it at _all_ when I’m disappointed.”

* * *

Theon wished he could say that he brushed it off, that the words didn’t cycle round and round in his brain long after they two of them had parted. Bolton had that effect, apparently. The man sure knew how to leave an impression.

Theon was spending more and more time at the archery range and he told himself he was just dedicated and not scared. It was a joke, obviously. A weird, coy little comment meant to unsettle him. Bolton wasn’t actually going to… to what, _punish_ him for failing to make rank? In a tournament featuring the top archers in the entire goddamn country? And punish him _how_? The whole idea was ridiculous.

Theon still kept going back to the range.

Even though he couldn’t stop thinking about his not-date with Bolton, especially when he passed that damn tree, it was therapeutic to be out there. The world outside the archery range was harder to deal with, where people still stared or averted their eyes or made excuses to avoid him. It was a relief to be leaving town, in any case.

With the national tournament taking place all the way down by King’s Landing, they had decided to make a road trip out of it. Whether Robb forced Jon to tag along or Jon forced himself to keep them out of trouble, Theon didn’t know or care. The guy threw a bit of a wet blanket on the visions of drunken debauchery he’d had in mind, but it was entertaining in of itself to drive him up the wall.

“Of course it would be just like you to show up hungover to your own tournament,” Jon was muttering from where he was sprawled across the backseat. “Here I thought you’d actually committed to this thing.”

“When have you ever known me to commit to anything,” Theon said absently, finger scrolling across his phone.

He’d been neglecting his social media lately. He had a strong following as a model and hoped to make up for his recent silence during the trip. Southern weather always took adjusting to, but God knew it was nice to have some proper natural lighting for his shots.

“Whatever. Just know that if you even touch that selfie stick I’m not going to be seen within fifty feet of you.”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I an embarrassment to _you_?”

“Everyday for the past fifteen years, Greyjoy.”

“Now, now,” Robb said good naturedly, “We’re going to get through this trip in one piece if it kills us, you hear?”

“Yeah, fine. Just make sure we’ve got enough sunscreen. Don’t want Jon bursting into flame the second he’s in direct sunlight.”

Theon and Jon still gave each other a hard time in general, even though the bile and scorn that had fueled their youthful interactions had faded out. The bickering and snark was simply built into their dynamic at this point; they’d be old men and Theon would still be going out of his way to give Jon grief. They never actually meant to hurt each other, not anymore.

“What would you know about it?” Jon scoffed. “I didn’t realize it ever stopped fucking raining on the islands. Or maybe you didn’t either, seeing as it’s been a century since you’ve been there last.”

… But every now and then, one of them still stumbled across a genuine sore spot.

“The fuck are you trying to say?” Theon demanded, lowering his phone.

Jon, for all his efforts to be above it all, rarely failed to rise to bait. “Nothing. Just that it’s not the _Iron Islands _you’re representing in this tournament, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Robb said sternly. “Or I swear I will pull this car over and not move an inch until I’ve made you two hug.”

“Please no.”

“Not again.”

“Then cool it. We’re all brothers here and by the _gods_, we’re gonna love and cherish each other. Fuck’s sake.”

* * *

Despite his bluster, Theon didn’t drink before the tournament. Well, not a lot. Not enough.

He had never dealt especially well with stress. Easier and better to brush it off or bury it. Fake it until you make it, right? Those were the words he had more or less lived by all his life.

If he botched this he would laugh it off. Whatever, who cares. Just a hobby, just a game. And look how far he’d gotten already, despite barely giving a damn? After that he probably wouldn’t compete next year, not past regionals anyway even if he qualified again. What did he care anyway, about winning a medal for the North.

Caring about things was a dangerous gamble in the end. It gave people more weak spots to poke at. It made failure all the more shameful when it happened. Life lessons he had his father and brothers to thank for.

Bolton was a low-aiming cunt, prodding Theon where he knew his armor was weakest. ‘_Don’t you want to make me proud’._ Fuck him.

Theon Greyjoy didn’t have anything to prove to anybody. Least of all Ramsay Bolton.

He kept the fire of his resolve burning in his belly when it came time to shoot. After weeks of sniping wooden figures through the trees, firing in a straight line at a bale target was almost uncanny. He easily made it through the first few rounds, the other archers whittled down as the target distance grew and target sizes shrank.

When it came down to the ninety meter line Theon had a decent sum of points. Enough to be proud of. Not enough to place unless he shot a near perfect round or relied on the others’ screwing up.

He’d never been one to lean on luck. History told him time and again that his luck was absolute garbage.

Theon took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass and food wafted from the nearby vendors. He listened to the steady time of his heartbeat and felt the fair breeze of the wind. His mind drifted back to the range, the platform and the wooden wolf in his sights as heavy hands anchored his waist.

_Impress me._

“Watch this, you vile prick.” He murmured before releasing his draw.

The target was too far and too small for him to see which ring he’d struck. He heard the reactions of the crowd first.

Then, over the loudspeaker, “**_X_**_._”

Dead on. His next two shots weren’t as good - a 9 and 10, respectively, but it was still a damn strong finish.

He waited as the other remaining archers took their turns, their scores all tabulated. He watched, numb and detached from his body, as the final ranking was announced.

Amidst the din of the crowd, his phone vibrated in his pocket with a new text message:

_Good job._

And it felt good. God help him, it felt so good.

* * *

He wore the bronze medal around his neck for the rest of the night. He could see himself sleeping and showering in it, even.

Robb had tackled him in a hug at first opportunity.

“You worked so hard,” he said, affectionately mussing Theon’s hair. “You earned this.”

Even Jon had congratulated him in his own way by buying the first round of drinks for what promised to be a very long celebratory pub crawl.

There were a lot of very nice places to drink in the area, and even without the prize money in his bank account yet Theon shrugged off the expense. Jon might have put his foot down about going to a strip club but they could still have a fun night. Theon would just bide his time and sneak out to one with Robb later.

They were a couple stops in when their standards quickly started to slip; they had entered the cycle of leaving a bar, wandering the unfamiliar streets until “do they look like they serve alcohol there? Let’s check” and finding the answer was usually yes.

Theon realized he was half-past tipsy when he fumbled with the paper towel dispenser in the men’s restroom of their latest stop. He didn’t look up when the door swung open, not even when whoever had entered firmly slammed it shut behind them.

“Congrats on your win,” the girl said, words dripping with spite.

Theon squinted as he scanned her over, mind sluggishly working. It took him a good minute just to remember where he was, and to process all the reasons why this encounter didn’t make sense.

“… Don’t tell me _you’re_ stalking me too!?”

Myranda glared at him with open disdain. Theon had never had a girl hate him so ardently before, and he had wronged more than his share of women.

“We need to talk.”

“That’s one opinion,” Theon said, still somewhat stunned. “I’m gonna go.”

Myranda honest to god _growled_, bodily shoving him into a bathroom stall before latching the door behind them.

“Oh my god.” Theon stumbled, trying to get as far from her as he could without falling into the toilet. “Oh, this is wrong.”

“Quit blubbering. Isn’t this what you wanted that night?” Myranda asked in faux sweetness. “Or have things _changed_ now?”

Theon grimaced. “Listen love, I’m trying this new thing where I don’t put my dick in crazy, and you-“

Myranda laughed sharply. “Princess, if you think that you’ll be the one sticking your cock into anything, you’re even dumber than you look.”

Theon slowly blinked at her.

“... Are you asking to peg me?”

He wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t feel it when she slapped him. She gave him the backhand too, like a guy would. Fucking hell.

“Pull yourself together. I’m trying to do you a favor, you vapid cunt.” She pulled out her phone. “You think because of a bad dream that you know the first thing about Ramsay? Ha. You have no idea what he’s really like.”

She pulled him in by his collar to watch her phone screen. With the press of her finger a video began to play.

There was no audio, for which Theon was immediately grateful. He watched the recording of a woman writhing on a bed, her arms pulled back and bound at cruel angles. Her body was striped with bleeding lacerations, like someone had shallowly taken a knife to her.

Myranda swiped her thumb to another video. Another bound and sobbing girl, this time kneeling on the floor. Her hands were up over her head, her back a mess of bleeding welts. It went beyond any understanding of kink that Theon had - it looked like she’d been brutally whipped the way the sailors and thralls of old had been.

“And these are girls that we let limp home,” Myranda whispered. “You should’ve seen Tansy. She thought she was prettier than me, tried to hog all of Ramsay’s attention and shoulder me out. Violet too - she got pregnant and said she was going to keep it. For money or leverage or something stupid like that.”

Theon’s whole body felt cold.

“We just need a third every now and then, you see. He and I get these urges but can only go so far with each other. Because he’d never do these things to _me_,” she said, eyes burning. “You think he’ll fuck you sweet? He won’t even be able to get hard. Not until he’s made you bleed, not until he sees you crying. So why don’t you think on that, pretty boy. Maybe you’ll reconsider before you risk that soft skin of yours.”

She pocketed her phone. Lingered at the cubicle door.

“… He said he’d marry me, you know. Ever since we were kids, we talked about it.” Myranda glared at him with wet eyes. “Then _you_ turned up. You. A squishy, spineless, entitled moron. Living proof that soul bonds are a bloody farce. I’d kill you myself if I could.”

She blew through the door and out of the restroom entirely, leaving Theon to be ill in peace.

* * *

Robb and Jon had found him in the bathroom, puking his guts out and crying. It wasn’t as unfamiliar a sight to them as Theon would have liked. Adolescence had been a rough time.

They picked him up and brought him back to the hotel. They pretended not to notice his drastic change in mood as the melancholy clung to him like a bad smell. Robb wheedled him with little questions and concerns, but all Theon needed to do was allude to his father’s radio silence and the matter was safely dropped. No one knew more about Theon’s daddy issues than Robb.

Theon left his medal in his bag where he didn’t have to look at it.

He had never made the mistake of thinking he’d be safe from Ramsay Bolton, but he had admittedly held onto the notion that his soul mark offered him some form of protection. The truth was a bitter pill on his tongue.

_He’s just saving it for the bedroom. I’ll let my guard down and it’ll be the last time I do._

He shuddered. Not that he had been thinking about it to start with. Even without Myranda’s little visit, the idea of being exposed and vulnerable with that man had made his body run hot and cold all at once. He had experienced enough in the soulshare to be afraid, but seeing proof of it in the waking world was something else. It made it all more than a bad dream.

“Theon.”

He had been staring into the hotel ceiling for a while now. He thought Robb had gone to sleep. He sure hoped Jon had in the next bed over.

“Yeah?”

“I know… I know your dad’s approval means a lot. But please don’t let him ruin this for you, okay?” Even in the dark, Robb’s eyes were bright and earnest. “I used to be so worried about you when we were kids. I still worry. I almost had to watch you completely wreck yourself trying to make Balon Greyjoy happy.”

“I know.”

After high school he’d briefly tried to go home and show an interest in the family business. Got laughed at and made to do scud work for a while. Was eventually told that there was no advancing until he ‘became a man’, and it wasn’t hard to discern what was meant by that.

Theon wasn’t strong enough for that world, so he crawled back to the North. Now Ramsay Bolton stood to drag him back into something worse.

“Maybe you don’t see it, but you’ve come really far. I don’t want to see you go backwards.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah?” Robb’s voice was so soft. “You go through cycles, Theon. Like the damn tide. One minute you’re high and then you’re low. Every now and then you spin out and hurt yourself somehow, and I hardly ever see it coming because you’re too damn good at faking how you feel.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just have a bad feeling.” Robb sighed. “Have you thought about seeing someone? Another therapist maybe? It helped a bit in high school-“

Right, the counselor Ned Stark made him see after they realized Theon wasn’t going anywhere. They’d given him his new bedroom and announced his appointment in the same day.

“Can we not talk about this now?”

“… Sure. Okay. I just know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, between the tournament and your dad and… that thing.” He motioned at Theon’s hand.

The mark glowed, just enough to still be recognizably scarlet even in darkness.

Theon laughed humorlessly. “There’s nothing anyone, least of all a shrink, can do about that Robb.”

* * *

There was something nostalgic about the smell of chlorine.

The nostalgia didn't come from the islands; his memories of his homeland were all salt and spray, sand and stone. Harsh and wild. It was something he'd taken to in the North. A person couldn’t swim in Northern bodies of water without risking hypothermia, so instead he had been consigned to humid indoor pools, heated and uniform and placid.

He had done a lot of swimming in school. When they were kids, all summer he would be dragging Robb to the pool at each opportunity. Being in the water always helped to clear his head, even if it was too warm and smelled of chemicals.

“It’s quaint, isn’t it. All these little hobbies of yours.”

Theon nearly swallowed a mouthful of pool water.

He’d just emerged from a lap to find Bolton seated in a poolside chair at the end of the lane. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing the cut of his forearms. His thighs were casually spread, elbows propped on his knees. He had definitely not been there a moment ago and it was a chilling reminder of how the man could seemingly come and go like the wind.

It was early morning on a weekday and the rec center was practically dead. There were some people in the gym next door, but the pool itself had been blissfully empty. Few wanted the hassle of scrubbing chlorine off before work, and Theon found himself wishing he’d picked a busier time to swim.

“We’re finally having an indoor pool of our own installed back home,” Bolton said offhandedly. “My father gave me one of his _looks_ about it_, _but my stepmother took to the idea so now it’s happening.”

“That’s… nice.”

Theon looked him over warily, still treading water and reluctant to move any closer to the edge of the pool. He felt those pale eyes scanning over him and he knew, just knew in his heart of hearts that Bolton was imagining the marks he’d lay into his exposed skin.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“My, you’re dense. Obviously I want you to come over.” Bolton shook his head derisively. “_Honestly_.”

“A fish bowl to keep me in?” Theon asked bitterly. “You shouldn’t have.”

Bolton’s eyes flashed. “Now there’s an idea. I don’t expect you’ll get into much trouble if I lock you in a tank.”

Theon shrank away slightly, water rippling about his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?”

Bolton’s chin was resting in his palm, finger thoughtfully tapping his cheek.

“I heard you were back in town. Thought I’d pay a visit and communicate my congratulations. It looks like even you can follow directions every now and then.”

“I didn’t do it for you. Is that all?”

“Unfortunately no.” Bolton gave a light sigh. “I was actually in a good mood, even wondered how I might reward you for doing so well. And then _this_ had to go and rain on my morning.”

He threw the magazine into the pool with a wet splat. Theon fished it off the surface before it could become too waterlogged and sink to the bottom.

It was open to a familiar advertisement: he and Sand wrapped around each other in the water, the red band on Theon’s finger a striking contrast to the cool blues and dim lighting of the rest of the scene.

“That… it’s my job,” Theon said, depositing the magazine at the poolside before it could disintegrate in his hands. “It wasn’t even my idea. I just show up and do what I’m told.”

“Really. That’s not a quality _I’ve_ ever seen you demonstrate.” Bolton’s mood had flipped, going from aloof and detached to rabid fury. “You’re really trying to make me jealous of everyone now, are you?”

“What? No!” Theon looked around once more at the empty pool. “It’s not about you! You don’t have any fucking right to-“

_He rolled up his sleeves_ was Theon’s last coherent thought before he was forcibly pushed under the water.

His scream was a plume of bubbles wrenched from his chest, hands clawing ineffectually at the strong arms holding him down. His knee banged wildly against the wall of the pool and he felt it rattle his bones.

After several agonizing moments he was let up, bursts of light dancing in his vision as he choked on water and air both.

“Do you want to try that again?” Bolton asked sweetly.

“_You crazy bast_-“

The water went straight up his nose as he was shoved back under. Fingers were tangled mercilessly in his hair, keeping him so close and so far from breaching the surface. It was all wrong, Theon was supposed to drown in the sea, not here in some Northern pool.

The air was rough on his throat as he was finally allowed to gasp for breath.

“- always knew Theon Greyjoy was a slut, but I didn’t realize he was a whore too,” Bolton was saying cruelly. “You’ll grovel for any validation you can get, is that it? Even if it means taking off your clothes like a glorified camboy.”

Theon spat a mouthful of water onto Bolton’s shirt.

“Even if I fucking do,” he spluttered. “it’s still a hell of a lot better than those _snuff films_ you make with Myranda!”

Bolton froze. “What?”

“She tracked me down after the tournament and showed me what you two get up to together,” Theon snarled, head spinning. “I already had an idea, but… god, is that what you want to do to me? Tie me down and cut me the fuck open? Well it’s never gonna happen, not in a million years!”

“Is that so? Interesting,” Bolton said frostily. “You do know that most people don’t get very far in saying no to me.”

Theon’s eyes went wide, chest constricting at the implication. He knew Bolton was a murderer. A torturer. A sadist. He wouldn’t be a rapist too, would he?

_Of course he would. Why not?_

Bolton’s expression gentled, fingers lightly pushing the wet hair from Theon’s face. “Now don’t be that way. I’ve been patient with you, haven’t I? And I thought we’d been getting along so well.”

The man was psychotic. Theon had known it, just as he’d known a lot of things, but somehow he hadn’t fully comprehended. He lay half-slumped over the edge of the pool, taking deep wheezing breaths and feeling too exhausted to move despite the heart rapidly thudding in his chest.

“I can see you’re not very smart,” Bolton said in an almost soothing tone. “So I’ll spell it out for you. If anybody touches you like that again, it’ll be the last thing they do.”

His palm patted - more like slapped - Theon’s cheek.

“And you’ll _wish_ it was the last thing you did, too.”

He was gone almost as suddenly as he arrived. Theon was left to cough and gasp at the pool's edge, so wrung that he was almost ready to let the water take him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *banging pots and pans together* This! fic! Has gotten! Out! Of hand!!  
I should have split this chapter up for the sake of the pacing and to avoid word overload, but I need this thing out of my life by Halloween.


	3. Chapter 3

There came a point in a man’s life when he had to accept that the gods hated him. Theon was fairly sure one of the clearest signifiers of this was when your soulmate tried to drown you in a public pool.

He had taken some time to panic in the locker room before he felt stable enough to drive, after which he all but barricaded himself into his apartment. If he ever encountered Ramsay Bolton again in this lifetime, it would be too soon.

It wasn’t abnormal for Theon to stew in his own misery every now and then. Especially since is his usual coping method of marathon hook-ups was off the table. God was he _never_ going to be able to have sex again? The image of Bolton watching him from across the street with a rifle in hand was a pretty serious boner killer, especially since the threat wasn’t idle.

Theon had come home feeling like garbage and the feeling didn’t go away. In fact it got worse: he went from being just plain bitter to feeling actively ill. His head was heavy and his throat tight, and all he ever really wanted to do was lie around and be miserable. He began having strange, formless but painful dreams that kept him up at night with a panic he couldn’t name. No matter what he did, his body felt cold.

The only time he left the house these days was for groceries or when dragged out to cafés by Robb.

“You look terrible.”

Theon gave him a dead-eyed look from behind his sunglasses. “Love you too.”

“I mean it, man. I thought getting you some fresh air would be good, but maybe you should be in bed.” Robb assessed him warily. “Do you feel okay?”

Theon shrugged as he took a long swill of coffee. “Yes mom, I’m fine.”

“You say that, but I can smell the liquor and weed on you from here. Not a great combination when you look dead on your feet.”

“It’s nothing. I probably just caught something when we were down south.”

“Well maybe swap the booze and drugs for some soup and water, huh? Can’t have any of your fifty thousand followers seeing you looking like that.”

“Don’t you start. I haven’t even gotten around to posting any of the shots we took on the trip.”

“I noticed,” Robb said. “You made me lie down in the sand to get those angles you wanted, and now my suffering is going to waste.”

“Drama queen.” Theon smirked as he scrolled through his photo reel. “You’re almost as bad as Jon.”

“How dare you. I’ve been your unpaid camera guy for over a decade and where was Jon? Two kilometers up the beach pretending he didn’t know us.” Robb paused. “What’s wrong?”

Theon looked up from where he had been staring transfixed at his phone.

“Sorry, just… I don’t remember taking these.”

Theon thumbed through the photos all of which had seemingly been taken in the woods. There was nothing especially notable about them - trees, trails, plants. He just didn’t recognize them.

“Huh. Did you take them sometime at the archery range maybe?” Robb asked. “I take pics of the inside of my pocket all the time by accident.”

“I- Maybe.” Theon said weakly. “I guess things have just been weird lately, you know? I’ve been losing things and forgetting things and receiving this weird stuff that I can’t remember buying-“

“Like what kind of stuff?”

“Just… just stuff.”

“Okay.” Robb glanced back at the phone. “And you haven’t been drinking or using more than usual?"

"No. If anything I used less so I could train for the tournament."

"And you definitely haven't seen Bolton since that first night at the bar, right?”

Theon froze. Robb still didn’t know that he and Bolton had been ‘encountering’ each other intermittently over the past few months. It was for the best that it stayed that way.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It’s just… you know what they say, right? About people who reject their soul bonds or who spend too much time away from their bondmate.”

Theon heaved an exaggerated sigh. “God, not you too. Soul sickness isn’t real!”

“Maybe not to the extent media makes it out to be, but people do get sick, Theon!” Robb insisted. “I’m not saying that it’s one-to-one and that folks go _mad_, but when people feel off, or their moods swing, or they can’t sleep… stuff like that all builds up, and it’s harmful. Especially if their mental health wasn’t pristine to start with.”

Theon scowled. The hell was Robb was implying?

“It might all be psychological, like a placebo or something,” Robb said, hands up placatingly. “But we still don’t really know how soul bonds work or what they do to people. And Theon… you haven’t been doing so great lately.”

“That’s just me, Robb.” With his historically less-than-‘pristine’ mental health, apparently.

“Maybe. Have you been eating okay? Sleeping enough?”

Theon frowned at his phone screen. Food had been tasting strangely in his mouth lately and his sleep was often plagued by disquieting dreams, so he hadn’t gotten much of either.

His shoddy memory, his absent-mindedness, this weird not-flu… it had started after he met Bolton. Was he losing it? He sure sounded crazy, freaking out to Robb over some random pictures he’d probably taken by accident.

“I’ve been worse.”

Robb put a soothing hand on Theon’s shoulder. “You’re stressed, you’re not taking care of yourself, and now you’re under the weather. You need to go home and rest. If something funny is going on, then we’ll find out and deal with it, but you have to get your health back up.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.”

“Do you want me to stay over?”

Theon brushed him off. “I don’t need a nurse.”

“Forgive me for being skeptical,” Robb said. “Go home, drink something without any alcohol content. I’ll be by to check on you later, okay?”

“Fine.”

And Theon did try. He went home, showered, took out the recycling and aired the stench of weed out of the apartment so that Robb wouldn’t judge him too harshly.

He searched up on soul sickness that night, sifting through the bullshit and the folklore to find anything concrete. Did rejecting your bond actually have direct physical and mental consequences, or was it just stress and placebo messing with people?

The consensus was mixed. Genuine phenomena wasn’t unheard of, because soulmates were literally bound together and that much was fact. Some reported lingering effects after the soulshare, referred to horrifyingly as a “bleed”, wherein the two minds didn’t fully separate. Thoughts, images and impulses could be transferred over. Some people inexplicably gained new phobias or experienced cravings for food they previously hated.

Theon thought back to his troubled dreams and bizarre purchases of things he didn’t need. It hadn’t happened again, so maybe (hopefully) it had just been a temporary thing. A mental glitch after the soulshare. The idea of being permanently mind-melded to Ramsay Bolton was too horrible to contemplate.

It was still all speculation as to why these things happened. The bleed, the anxiety, the random nausea... two bonded souls weren’t meant to be kept apart, sources claimed, and to do so after they’d found each other was unhealthy.

Well. No one had ever accused Theon of being a profoundly healthy individual.

When Robb arrived the next day it was with broth and special tea, along with various produce and oatmeal. He set them definitively on the counter with strict orders to eat everything.

“If I’m soulsick, what good is any of this going to do?”

“It certainly won’t do any harm. Besides, you’ve been losing weight. I can tell.” Robb looked at him with eyes so worried it made something twist inside Theon’s stomach. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. I wish I could do more than just this.”

“You do more than enough. Fuck Robb, you have no idea.” He always avoided eye contact when saying such things.

Theon wasn’t built for sentiment, it wasn’t in his blood. He liked to keep his inner storms and raging tides locked up tight. Robb wasn’t that way: though he sometimes struggled with the pressures placed upon him, his emotional landscape was a simple place only marked by clear skies.

“Why do you think it’s him?” Theon asked quietly. “Of everyone in the world, how could it be him?”

Robb wordlessly pulled him into a crushing hug. There was no answer.

* * *

The funny thing was that Theon did start to feel a little better. The food Robb brought must have helped, or maybe it was that the fog of his latest bout of depression was starting to clear.

Of course as established, the gods hated him, and things didn’t stay on the upswing for long.

His phone began to ring, and things took another sharp turn.

Theon longed for the day he was strong enough to refuse a call from his father, when he could see that caller ID and not feel a stupid, weak pang of hope in his chest. His dad _never_ called him, not for birthdays or holidays or even to bitch him out for whatever disgraceful way Theon was living his life that week.

Those calls were usually left to Yara.

It took all of Theon’s willpower just to let the damn thing ring once, twice. So he didn’t seem too eager or too desperate for even a scrap of his father’s attention. Theon was the one who had left home, after all. He chose it. He had his pride, damn it.

“Is someone dead?” He asked, voice carefully nonchalant.

A scoff on the other end. “_No one you need to be concerned with. I have a task for you, boy._”

There it was. Balon Greyjoy only ever called his son if there was something he wanted. A blue moon occurred with greater frequency, but when it did Theon was always incapable of saying no.

“Where’s Yara?”

_“Your sister is attending to matters of greater importance. Unlike you, she has ambitions.”_ Balon rasped impatiently. “_Also unlike you, she doesn’t keep secrets from her father.”_

Theon could have sworn his stomach dropped from his body and straight into the floor.

“That you know of,” he rasped.

_“Then she is superior in that sense as well.”_

“What are you-“

_“Don’t demean us both with your pitiful charade. You have been neither discreet nor responsible in handling this matter.” _A noise of disgust. _“Groveling to _Ned Stark_. Have you no shame at all?”_

“It’s not like you would have been any help,” Theon said bitterly. “Who told you?”

A pause.

“_You may have heard that we are in the process of establishing a branch on the eastern coast. We’ve found an ideal stretch of property on which to base our operation, but these Northerners with their obnoxious power plays are being purposefully difficult._”

“Northerners. On the eastside.” A deep unease began to brew within him.

The further North one went the less crowded the seaboard became. Most of the land was privately owned en masse by a handful of old families, many of whom had been bought out or subjugated by one family in particular.

“What do you want, dad?” Theon felt the dread building in the hollow space his stomach used to be.

“_Roose Bolton asked after you,_” Balon said with a sneer. “_I told him that I wasn’t likely to know your business, what with you still skulking around the North yourself. My prodigal son still thinks he’s too good for his homeland._ _So__ then _he_ had to be the one to tell me what my own spawn has tried so poorly to keep hidden._”

Theon cringed. “You have opinions to share, I expect.”

_“The situation is both the sort of nonsense I’d anticipate, as well as completely beyond my realm of understanding. Your apparent… proclivities are as disappointing as the rest of you, but at the very least they can be of some use. If you had the rare inclination to be useful, that is.”_

The situation entered a sudden and terrible clarity.

“You’re whoring me out to a knife-wielding torture technician,” Theon said numbly. “For real estate.”

“_If that’s the best function you can serve for our house, then so be it. You’ll meet with the bastard and influence him in our favor. Your sister will elaborate on our demands for you so that you don’t humiliate or do us wrong._”

“Dad you can’t just-“

“_Oh I can’t, can I?_” Balon said, his cool demeanor giving quickly to hot fury. “_I can’t even find the basest of uses for you? Am I to declare that the deal is off, because my son was too good to come when his family called?”_

“That’s not fair!”

A cold laugh. “_There you go, always whining and griping about the world not being fair for you. Poor Theon Greyjoy, never being accommodated._”

There was painful pause and Theon didn’t care to examine the twisted feeling writhing through his chest.

“He’s… he’s crazy, dad.” _I know you don’t care about me but please, please just this once try to, please don’t make me do this._

Balon snorted, as if he could hear his youngest child’s thoughts through the phone. “_I am well aware of the Bolton bastard’s disposition, but this is your mess. You’re a Greyjoy. Act like it._”

Theon didn’t have the strength to protest again.

* * *

Theon knew better than to think that any of this would actually win him points with his father, let alone an ounce of gratitude. There was never any winning with Balon Greyjoy, not for Theon. If he refused the man then he was a spoiled, ungrateful traitor to his kin. If he complied with his father’s demands then he was pathetic, desperate and spineless.

Eventually Theon still had no choice but to climb into his car and make for some ludicrously posh restaurant uptown. Under normal circumstances he’d be hoping it was the kind that served real portions, but in all honesty he wouldn’t have the will to eat anything.

He tried not to look like a man on death row as he let the host take his coat and gave the name of his reservation (Bolton, party of 2). He could get through this. It was a public space. The Boltons’ reach wasn’t so great that they could get away with hurting him in a busy restaurant. Right?

He was led to a more secluded, undoubtedly more exclusive area of the already premier establishment. Theon took one look at the man seated and felt his stomach drop.

The man cut an intimidating figure in a suit, which was doubly unfair because he was scary enough by default. Theon had seen him in loose-fitting camouflage, in hoodies layered beneath sheepskin jackets. The suit was dark and tailored, emphasizing his build.

Theon was a fit guy, poor habits not withstanding, but always in a wiry, lean sort of way. Bolton looked like he could have boxed in his spare time. In hindsight Theon had to almost applaud his past, drunk self for having the balls to square up against him in a bar fight.

“Do you think this is funny?” He heard himself ask, still feeling weirdly detached from his body.

“In an outré sort of way,” Bolton admitted. “I’ll have you know I haven’t worked this hard for a date in all my life.”

“And I bet you’re having a grand ol’ time with it, you sadistic fu-“ Someone cleared their throat and Theon realized the host was still there, waiting for him to take his seat.

He coughed and awkwardly slid into his chair.

Bolton looked him over almost lazily, amused. “Wine?”

“… Sure.” Wine wasn’t Theon’s poison of choice, but right now any alcohol would do.

He was keenly aware of those cold eyes on him, blue-grey like dirty ice, digging into his soul. He struggled not to squirm in his seat.

“So,” Bolton said cheerfully, cheek propped in his palm. A childlike gesture made disconcerting by his foreboding presence. “Are we having our first fight? My experience with this sort of thing is limited, but I’d say we’re doing it all out of order.”

“That’s an incredibly flippant way of referring to the fact that you nearly drowned me.”

“I wouldn’t have gone through with it. Besides, I thought you Ironborn loved that sort of thing. It was practically foreplay.”

Theon choked on his drink.

“That’s a bit tasteless, given what we're ‘fighting’ about.”

Bolton’s expression darkened. “Oh yes. Myranda. I’ve had to exchange words with her too, I’m afraid.”

Theon didn’t much like the sound of that. “Speaking of your girlfriend, I’m pretty sure she’d have words of her own to say about all this.”

“She’s not my girlfriend. And even if she had been, she wouldn’t be anymore.”

“You didn’t strike me as such a romantic.”

“Some would call it being ‘sensible’,” Bolton said mockingly. “How’s that suiting you, by the way?”

“It would be a lot better if you didn’t insist on sabotaging my life,” Theon snapped. “You outed me to my _father_. That’s a new fucking low.”

“In my defense, I didn’t expect him to sell you out quite that easily.” Bolton's tone was sincere but his eyes were laughing. “I knew he would eventually, but he started haggling _real_ quick.”

Theon didn’t realize he had much heart left to break in regards to his father. He thought he’d fully come to terms with the state of things by now. It still stung.

“I suppose your dad would’ve set a higher price if it were you.”

Bolton’s jaw twitched. “I serve my father and secure my house. I’m indispensable.”

“Really.”

They lapsed into a steely sort of silence, neither breaking eye contact as the waiter came to take their orders. Ramsay ordered for him, which was annoying but also just as well since Theon hadn’t been able to do anything but stare unseeing at the menu.

He watched the waiter leave and prayed that a place this expensive had fast service.

“You and your father have already made up your minds about what you’re going to do, so I’m sincerely at a loss as to why we’re here,” he said. “You wanted to jerk me around some more, I’m guessing.”

For a long moment Bolton just looked at him, assessing him over leisurely sips of wine. Finally he put the glass down with finality.

“We’re inclined to sell your family that land at an only slightly less than fair price,” he said, still watching Theon with subdued interest. “We’ll apply a more reasonable tax to the profits you make importing and exporting through our territory. Your father’s been low-balling us, so maybe you can bring him around.”

Theon snorted but motioned for him to continue.

“We also want your product to go through our distributors exclusively. No whoring around, Greyjoy. Or we’ll shut you down. Won’t be gentle about it, either.”

Theon’s father was going to be livid. The old man hated being held to others’ mandates, especially if it was under threat. Yara would have to find a way to soften the wording into something more palatable for him.

“Anything else?”

Bolton smirked humorlessly. “Aside from the reason you’re here?”

Theon stiffened, caught between paling and flushing red. The sight of it brought a genuine smile to Bolton’s face.

“I quite like this actually. You must be much more enjoyable than your father or sister, though that’s hardly high praise.”

“This isn’t going to happen again.”

“Funny how you keep saying that, and yet here we are.”

“I’m serious. I’m not involved in my family’s business, this isn’t a date and we are not in a relationship,” Theon said firmly. “And I’m not my father’s to sell.”

“Evidence points to the contrary.”

Theon bit his tongue as the waiter brought their food, his insides all twisting anxiously. It was true in a way. Even after all this time he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to refuse a direct order from his father.

“Did you… really kill those girls?” His voice was impossibly small. “The ones Myranda showed me.”

Ramsay looked at him and in that moment there was no glint in his eyes, no slyness or humor. His gaze was an utterly empty and bottomless abyss.

“She shouldn’t have done that.”

“So it’s true.”

“You know what I am and what I do. Why is this a problem?”

“It’s all a problem!” Theon winced at his own volume and made an effort to level his voice. “It’s all a problem. You and I… we are not compatible.”

Bolton rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft. And for the record, we didn’t kill _those _girls. We just get a little rowdy sometimes, go a little too far. All you saw was a few seconds of us playing rough with some faceless whores.”

“And the others?”

“The North is a big place,” Bolton shrugged. “Girls go missing all the time.”

Theon pushed his plate away, completely put off his food.

“You’re going to eat that.”

“I’ll be sick.”

“Then you’ll be sick.”

They stared each other down and the whole world seemed to shrink, encompassing only the pair of them at their table. Theon looked into him and saw a cat stalking a mouse, a child eyeing a toy in the store. Hungry and callous.

“… You’re enjoying this,” Theon realized finally. “All of this. You’re having _fun_. You’re ruining my life and it’s all just a big game to you!”

“Dramatic, aren’t we.” Bolton turned his attention to his food. “Look. It’s all _very_ simple. However you want to interpret it, we’re linked together and it’s permanent. Are you going to run from me forever?”

“If I have to,” Theon said sharply. “I’ve been in your head and hated every second of it. You’re a psychotic, cruel, monster of a human being and cleaving your soul off of mine was the best thing the gods ever could’ve done for me.”

“And you are a needy, insecure, defensive, emotional mess who compensates by being as obnoxious and self-important as possible,” Bolton replied smoothly. “And if your soul hadn’t been split from mine, I would hardly be able to function with all that weakness.”

Bolton reached across the table and grasped Theon’s wrist. The grip was light, but somehow felt like an iron shackle regardless.

“Of course we’re compatible. You just can’t see it because you’re stuck on thinking like a Stark.”

“That-“

“Ssh. It’s alright to be afraid. You’d be a fool if you weren’t. But things don’t have to go this way.” Bolton’s voice might have been soothing if it didn’t make Theon’s skin crawl. “You should be negotiating with me while you still have the means to do so.”

Theon didn’t even want to try decoding what that meant.

“Is that a threat?”

“I don’t need to make threats. I am merely explaining your circumstances, since you don’t seem to be understanding much on your own.” His grip tightened momentarily tightened before he released Theon’s wrist. “We’ll get where we’re going one way or another.”

Bolton leaned back into his seat.

“We’re going to have all sorts of good times, you and I.” His eyes flicked over Theon dismissively before returning to his dinner. “Now eat your food. You look like you’re coming down with something.”

* * *

There was something wholly surreal and vaguely absurd at being essentially forced to date someone at gunpoint.

Although the sad thing was that Ramsay (when did they get on a first name basis?) didn’t even need a gun and they both knew it. The threat of having this stupid deal fall through and Balon Greyjoy knowing his son was to blame was more than enough.

Yara’s hands were tied in much the same way. She’d berated Theon over the phone for not telling her the truth but was frankly as strapped for answers as he was. ‘Get this done and get out’ was her conclusion. She tried again to convince him to come home, to be where they could protect him, but Theon could see clear as day that there was no protection for him in the Greyjoy house.

Ramsay took him out to a few more nice places over the course of the month, but most damning of all was when they went for casual coffee or brunch. Those were the times Theon was liable to see or be seen by people he knew.

The dates themselves weren't the worst thing ever, really. Or rather they wouldn’t have been, if the excursions existed in a vacuum removed completely from their context. If it had just been a case of two guys going out, and not a borderline hostage situation, it might have been pleasant. Ramsay had this awful way of wriggling through defenses and making Theon forget himself. He was also weirdly good at playing normal and filling the silence with conversation that didn’t involve violence or torment. Who knew.

Theon still felt under the weather, as if he was one foot in and one foot out of actually being sick, but it was manageable. That was his whole life in a nutshell really: uncomfortable, but manageable.

And then something gave.

He got the text from Robb that never failed to inject ice into his veins: ‘_We need to talk_.’

It was past nightfall when Theon pulled into the parking lot of Robb’s office building. Ever since graduating from law school he’d been working his way up in policy, following his father’s footsteps. Making something of himself and walking a path he’d been sure of since they were kids. Theon had always envied him that.

Robb was leaning against the hood of his car, staring sternly at the wet pavement. He didn’t look up as Theon approached.

“Hey. What’s-“

“You’re seeing Ramsay Bolton.”

Theon stopped short. The silence hung heavy and ominous between them.

“… It’s not what you think.”

“You. Are _seeing_. Ramsay _Bolton_.” Robb turned to him, eyes alight with a severe and frankly frightening intensity.

Theon felt the world tilt. “I had to. I still have to. You don’t understand-“

“What’s to understand!?” Robb angrily pushed off the hood of his car. “He’s a monster, Theon! The day you met he nearly broke your finger!”

“He wants to make it up to me,” Theon said weakly, reciting words he didn’t even believe.

“The hell he does!” Robb snapped. “He doesn’t even like you, he likes that you make it easy for him to fuck with you!”

“Excuse me?”

“I was afraid of this. Ever since the mark showed up, I’ve been trying to figure out how this could’ve happened,” Robb said. “Because you’re a good person. You are, I know it. But you’ve always been fragile.”

“_Fragile!?_”

“I know you don’t want to hear it but it’s true! I’ve always worried that someone else was going to see it and take advantage. That they’d promise you all the things your father didn’t give you and twist you up inside. And now he’s doing it!”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Theon said furiously. “And you’ve got it all wrong! I’m doing it for my family okay? It’s business!”

“And why the hell are you doing your father’s business!?” Robb demanded. “I thought you were done with all that!”

“They’re my-“

“No, _we_ are your fucking family!” Robb grabbed Theon by the shoulders. “And we would never in a million years even put you in the same damn _room_ as Ramsay Bolton, no matter how much fucking money we stood to make from it!”

“Robb…” This wasn’t a conversation he ever wanted to have. It was all too raw, chafing on all of the vulnerabilities Theon had never been able to fully shutter away.

“He’s going to get you killed! Whatever he is to you, whatever he’s promised, we can-“ Robb made a noise of frustration. _“You don’t need him_, Theon!”

“I-“

When Robb pressed his mouth to his, Theon’s mind went utterly blank. The kiss lasted for maybe a second - an insistent, desperate second - but the buzzing persisted in his ears even after they parted.

Theon stared uncomprehendingly into those pleading sky blue eyes.

“You don’t want me like that,” he said numbly. “You never have.”

Theon had never wanted it either. That had never been what they were or what they had. Robb clearly thought he was so desperate to be loved that Theon could be manipulated by anyone who offered, even if it was Ramsay Bolton.

Robb didn’t try to deny it.

“Don’t go back,” he begged. “Cut ties with Bolton, fuck what your father wants. We can protect you. You’ll always have a place with us.”

Theon could feel himself beginning to get choked up.

“I’m not some sad victim you need to save,” he said thickly. “Is that how you see me? A ‘fragile’ pet project to be pitied by you and all your Stark charity?”

“What? No, no of course not! You’re my best friend, I see the best in you and I want the best for you!” Robb looked on the edge of panic. “You’ve come so far and Bolton’s only going to tear you down, you have to see that!”

“I see plenty,” Theon said. “I’m not some helpless idiot like you seem to think. I know what he is. You’re the one who doesn’t understand, who’s never understood. I can’t be like you okay? I don’t have a perfect family or parents who give a fuck about me unconditionally. Until you know what it’s like having to grovel and bleed just so your father doesn’t cut you off, don’t you dare fucking judge me!”

“Theon-“

“I can’t deal with this right now. I just… I just can’t.”

As he left the lot, Theon wished he could strike that pained, raw look on Robb’s face from his memory. But he knew it would be with him forever.

* * *

Theon had gone through a few downward spirals in his life, but never without Robb.

He had been the one to encourage Theon to try therapy, just for a while when they were teenagers. Theon had hated every second of it. It had been painfully demeaning, sitting in that chair across from a middle aged psychiatrist. Living proof that the Starks all thought Theon was some kind of troubled loon. He had loathed every trip to that office, where he’d be made to say and hear all the things he wasn’t ready to.

You’re repressed, Theon. You lash out. You cope in unhealthy ways. You build yourself up and tear others down, just like your brothers did to you.

“And do you really want to be like Rodrik and Maron?”

The answer was of course. Of course he had. His brothers were strong, fearless. They took and got what they wanted. Father loved them and they didn’t even have to beg.

What made Theon different? What awful thing inside him needed to be fixed?

_I’m weak. No matter how I pretend, they all still see it. Even Robb._

So maybe his mental health had never been the best, but he wasn’t crazy or broken. He just wasn’t the greatest at dealing with his emotions, his weakness.

Theon spent the night in a liquor-induced coma and woke up past noon the next day with a pounding hangover. He then proceeded to lay around for what felt like hours among the empty bottles, too depressed to much else. His stomach demanded solid food and his heart demanded more booze. He wanted Robb, wanted to punch him and hug him and forget that awful conversation ever happened.

There was a gaping hole inside his chest, full of regret and shame and rage. The kiss didn’t mean anything, he knew it didn’t. It was just a desperate tactic from his personal white knight, once again trying to rescue Theon Greyjoy from himself.

Lucky him.

By dusk he was able to pull himself together well enough for a fresh trip to the liquor store. Drinking his way into oblivion just seemed like the right and proper thing to do.

He was slogging miserably down the road when the beacon of headlights beamed against his back, casting his long shadow upon the sidewalk. He turned and tried to squint through the glare but the assholes must’ve had their highbeams on.

The car pulled up beside him, revealing that it was a sleek black SUV.The driver’s side window rolled down, revealing a man Theon faintly recognized as one of Ramsay’s friends from that day in the hunting store.

“Get in the car, princess.”

“Excuse me?” Theon glanced up and down the empty street. “Piss off.”

The guy shrugged and rolled up the window. Moments later the doors slid open and another two thugs were climbing out.

“Come on now," one of them said. "If you make us rough up your pretty face, the boss is gonna be ticked.”

“Fuck you and fuck him too! I’m not getting in your creepy rape ca-!”

The punch to his gut wasn’t wholly unexpected. Theon still managed to deck the guy in the throat before the other one grabbed him from behind. He kicked wildly, some of the hits landing, but eventually was caught by the ankles and hoisted into the backseat.

The doors slid shut and it felt like the lid of his casket coming down.

“You’ve really gone and done it now,” the driver said conversationally as they pulled away from the curb. “D’you realize the shit we’ve gotta contend with when he’s worked up?”

Theon quickly detangled himself from the other men, wanting to touch them as little as possible.

“Seriously. Shouldn’t your job be to fuck him good so that he’s actually _easier_ to live with?” One of the brutes muttered.

Theon flushed angrily. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

The man on his left snorted. “Okay, bondboy. Wow, I honestly dunno what I expected you’d be like.”

“Myranda, maybe?” The driver suggested. “Someone with balls.”

“Eh, whatever. If the gods say what Ramsay needs is a chew toy, I’m not gonna complain.”

Something in Theon snapped - maybe it was the mention of Myranda, or the implication that he was weak (_fragile_), maybe it was the phrase ‘chew toy’. Regardless, he found himself on the brink of a violent, panic-induced outburst.

“Let me out of this fucking car!”

“Oy-!”

“Watch it!“

Theon bodily slammed into one flunky before raining feral kicks down onto the other. The three of them in the backseat quickly devolved into a clumsy, close-quarters wrestling match.

“The fuck is going on back there!?” The driver demanded as the vehicle rocked and swayed.

“Pretty boy’s gone and lost it!”

By the end of it Theon’s lip was split, Lefty had a black eye and Righty’s nose was bleeding.

“That’s it, I gotta put him under.”

“What!?” Theon had barely any time to register the threat before a needle was in his neck.

* * *

He came to with a haze of nausea clouding his mind, head rolling back on his shoulders. He was sat in a creaky wooden chair, his whole body stiff and aching.

Theon blinked the fog from his eyes and realized he was sat in a darkened warehouse of sorts, the spotlight shining down upon him the only visible source of light in the place. The air felt vaguely damp, but lacked the tang of salt or brine that he had come to know and love. Either it had been raining (unlikely this far north, this late in the year) or they were by freshwater. A river, maybe?

Everything beyond his little sphere of light was shrouded in shadow. He wasn’t bound in any way, but there was a strange weight around his neck. He felt searchingly at the rough material strapped around his throat, experimentally prodding at the odd plastic box attached.

“I wouldn’t mess with that if I were you.”

Ramsay’s voice had a quality to it that Theon had never heard before, not even that day at the pool. Light, but falsely so. Gentle, but seething with pure rage.

There were footsteps treading about quietly in the darkness and Theon decided this was what being circled by a shark felt like.

“Ramsay? What the hell-" A horrible searing pain instantly ignited in his neck, spreading throughout his body like wildfire.

He’d been electrocuted once before as a kid - lightning had struck the mailbox outside his family home and he’d curiously touched the charged metal like an idiot. He recognized the feeling of being zapped, his muscles tense and spasming from the force of it.

“I am properly upset now, Theon.”

He coughed furiously to unlock his voice. “You put a _shock collar_ on me? Are you insa-”

Another bolt tore through him and god, how could anyone put these on their animals when this was just _inhumane_. He slumped back in the chair, beginning to realize why there had been no need for restraints.

Ramsay had cycled round to face him, standing half-cast in the shadows. He held a small remote in his hands.

“You gravely hurt my feelings, pet.”

“I d-don’t know what you mean.”

Ramsay’s brow ticked. “I can’t tell if you’re playing dumb or actually stupid.”

He pressed a button and a shock of greater magnitude immediately careened through Theon’s veins.

Theon’s scream echoed throughout the warehouse, tears welling in his eyes. The chair creaked as Ramsay got right up into his space, stormy gaze swallowing him whole.

“_Robb. Stark_. Ring any bells?”

Oh. Oh no.

“That was nothing!“

Ramsay slapped him, open palmed.

“Still a fucking whore. What do I have to do, hm? Cut your cock off? Put it in a cage? Put _you _in a cage?”

“He didn’t mean it!” Theon said desperately, trying to shake the dots from his vision. “He doesn’t want me that way, he never has. He just doesn’t want me to be with you!”

“You’re not helping anyone’s case,” Ramsay hissed, drawing back.

“Please-“

The flare of electricity that lit him up was the worst yet, actually causing his vision to white out for several seconds.

“I hate that word," Ramsay spat. "There's a time and place for begging, and it's not when you're getting what you deserve. You’ll take what I give you.”

He shocked him again, just to prove a point.

“But where are my manners. I made you promise didn’t I? About what would happen if someone put their hands on you again,” Ramsay said, words dripping with scorn. “What sort of man would you take me for if I didn’t keep my word?”

Theon’s body went from white-hot to ice cold.

“No, ple- you can’t!”

He could tell that was the wrong thing to say by how Ramsay’s eyes sparked. Theon was scrambling out of the chair before the next wave of pain could hit. The concrete floor was harsh against his knees but he stayed there anyway, hands gripping desperately at the hem of Ramsay’s shirt.

“Don’t hurt Robb. He didn’t mean it, I know he didn’t. It’ll never happen again, I’ll never touch anybody again, I swear!” He was on the verge of incoherence. “I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt him.”

Ramsay stared down the line of his nose at him, face blank and eyes distant.

“You love him that much.”

A dangerous question if Theon ever heard one. He swallowed painfully, mouth dry.

“You know what he is to me.”

Ramsay’s expression darkened slightly, mind undoubtedly going back to borrowed memories of crying into Robb’s shirt.

“You don’t need him anymore. You have me now.”

Theon didn’t have anything safe to say to that, tears dripping onto the warehouse floor and fingers wringing at Ramsay’s shirt. Even at his level, through his distress it took him a moment to notice the hard line pressing against the front of the other man's trousers.

Theon froze. He was on his knees, crying and begging for his friend's life, and Ramsay was getting off on it.

“You’d do anything, hm?” Ramsay asked loftily, directing him to make eye contact with a finger beneath Theon's chin. “Would you never speak to Robb Stark again? Would you quit your job?"

Theon's heart cracked and crumbled with each question. He didn’t have any words left to plead with. This was the moment Ramsay had warned him about; he should have negotiated with the bastard while he still had the chance.

Ramsay tugged Theon’s left hand free from its grip on his shirt, examining the red band on his little finger. Several agonizing seconds passed in silence.

"Anything, he says. What if I asked you to kill? To do for me what you couldn't do for your daddy?" His grip turned bruising. "No? _Then don't make promises you can't keep._"

He pushed Theon away, stepping back and into the darkness.

“I need to think about this,” he said finally. “Go home. I’ll send for you when I’m ready.”

Ready for what, Theon had no idea.

“And… and Robb?”

Ramsay glared. “I said I’ll think about it.”

“But-“

“If I hear you’ve spoken to him before then, I can’t be held accountable for what I’ll do.”

The shock collar sparked before tearing into him at what must have been its highest setting. The last thing Theon knew before blacking out was the blazing pain and cold touch of the concrete floor.

* * *

Everything had a breaking point, and Theon had apparently found his.

His sickness had lay partially dormant the past few weeks but had at long last realized itself as a full-fledged fever. Combined with the anxiety and emotional turmoil he’d already been roiling with, the result was perhaps the lowest Theon had ever been without the involvement of hard drugs.

He wasn’t even sleeping anymore.

At least, he didn’t think he was. Things had begun to blur. Time was getting harder and harder to keep track of. He was starting to hear things: footsteps in the hallway, scratching in the walls… even after he changed his locks and complained to the landlord the sounds persisted, revealing them to be a product of his overheated mind.

His memory loss had also escalated into a short-term issue. He couldn’t risk cooking anymore because more than once he had seemingly blinked his eyes to find a pot burning on the stove. He knew it was probably the sleep deprivation and that if he just got some proper rest, he’d feel better.

But he _couldn’t._

His troubled fever dreams had been growing more and more invasive, bleeding into his waking hours. Sometimes he dreamt about those girls, bleeding and crying. Sometimes he dreamt that he was in their place, screaming where no one could or cared to hear. Sometimes he dreamt that he was the one hurting them. Worst of all was when he dreamt of Robb, hurt or dead and all his fault.

Robb. If he knew the way Theon was living, he’d probably have a stroke.

_We don’t all have overbearing mothers to fuss over us until we’re back in good health, Stark._

Theon’s resentment was immediately met with waves of guilt. What if something happened to Robb because of him? What if that stupid fight was the last thing they ever said to each other?

He needed to get this fever to break already.

Theon fumbled with the contents of his medicine cabinet until he came upon the cough syrup. He didn’t care anymore if it knocked him out. That was what he needed anyway.

He took a gulp straight from the bottle, barely tasting the cloying fake-cherry flavor. He then stumbled his way back into bed, planting face down into the covers.

* * *

The beach at Pyke wasn’t anything glamorous or even hospitable. The sand was sharp and gritty, and the way down from their house required descending a steep trail through the cliffs.

Theon was sat between his mother’s knees, watching the waves crash rough and loud upon the rocks. In the distance they could see the dark clouds churn and blur with rainfall that now fell upon the open sea.

The storm hadn’t reached them yet, but Theon could hear the thunder. Every bright flash of lightning made him jump.

“The sea and sky were one, once,” his mother said, running a calming hand through his hair. “They had to split apart to make room for the land. The Drowned God knew it was for the best and retreated into the waves, pulling back the tide to create the islands.”

The lightning flashed, but this time Theon didn’t flinch. His mother was a wall of safety at his back.

“But the Storm God was bitter and distraught. Do you see how the wind churns and breaks the waves?” His mother pointed at the sea, growing choppy and violent in the distance. “That’s him, searching for his beloved. Seeking to be made whole once again.”

“That’s so sad,” Theon said, his voice young and soft. “Why can’t they be together?”

He had always heard that the Storm God was evil, but maybe he wouldn’t be anymore if he weren’t so lonely.

“If they were to reunite, it would mean the end of days. The Drowned God wouldn’t let that come to pass,” his mother said. “So the Storm God rages, filled with hatred for all of mankind and especially the Ironborn \- for the Drowned God carved us from his flesh and breathed into us his air, sacrificing himself to the depths forever so that we could rise.”

Theon lay back against his mother’s stomach, warm and secure despite the growing turbulence beyond the shore.

“Then it’s true what dad says. Soulbonds make us weak, and we’re better off without them.”

His mother made a disapproving noise. “Your father has strange notions regarding strength. You shouldn’t pay them too much mind.”

“He also says I probably don’t have a bond,” Theon said with a pained shrug. “Or if I do, that they’re happy to be free of me.”

“Oh child,” his mother pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You are my sweet and gentle boy, and there is iron in you true enough. Your bond will be only glad to have you.”

“If I meet them.”

“I feel that you will.”

Her voice had begun to fade like old audio, her touch turning to sand in Theon’s grasp. He tried to look at her face, just one last time, but everything around him had begun to smear like watercolor paint.

“The red string draws in those fated to weave their stories into the tapestry of the world.” Her words came from everywhere and nowhere. “And the gods have always watched you.”

* * *

The first thing Theon became aware of was the cold.

It was biting, painful as steel. The chill had seeped into every part of him, threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

He blearily opened his eyes and at first saw only darkness. His whole body ached and which way was up or down wasn’t immediately clear. The feeling of something rough against his cheek grounded him somewhat, proving that he wasn’t floating disembodied in a frigid abyss.

He blinked hard, eyes slowly adjusting.

He slowly came to realize that he was slumped against a great tree. The light of the moon vaguely illuminated the shapes of forestry and shrubs around him. He was still in his pajamas - an old hoodie and sweatpants - but he was also wearing trainers with no socks.

He was half-dressed in the woods, with no memory of how or when he got there. The autumn wind blew sharp against his skin, easily infiltrating the fabric of his clothes. This was bad. He had no phone and no idea of where exactly he was.

There was a layer of snow on the ground, but even with the moonlight it was still too dark to find any of his own tracks.

He wandered unsteadily through the trees, panic slowly mounting. Whatever had been going on with him, he’d really fucked up this time. He should’ve done what Robb said and gone to a doctor. Now he was probably going to die in the fucking forest of all places. He _hated_ the woods. What a final, literal nail in the coffin for how cursed his life had been.

Theon’s throat burned with the harshness of his breathing and the brutal chill of the air as he stumbled through snow and foliage.

He tripped on a gnarled root and wound up chest-first in the snow. He was actually inclined to stay there. What was the point?

He couldn’t be sure of how long he lay in the cold, clothes soaking through and body going numb, before he heard the noise of something approaching.

A hot, wet snout chuffed and probed at his face. Theon blearily looked up and into the eyes of an utterly massive dark hound. Recognition sparked in his brain.

“No fucking way.” His voice was rough, almost inaudible.

He clumsily pulled himself to his feet, hand tangled in the warmth of the dog’s fur. It wagged its tail happily and began to eagerly urge Theon through the woods.

They walked for what felt like forever but probably wasn’t, if only because Theon would’ve probably died if that were the case. Eventually there was a light between the trees, which turned into a large stone mansion as they breached the edge of the property.

The dog led Theon to the front door of the estate, which must’ve had a very attentive security system because someone opened the door as if on cue.

A stoic man in a pressed shirt looked at him blandly. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Ah, yeah.” Theon swallowed, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I’m really sorry, but could I borrow a phone?”

It was beginning to occur to him how much he resembled a homeless drug addict. Whatever. Even if Jeeves called the cops on him, at least he’d get a lift back to the city.

“What is it? Someone at the door, at this hour?” A heavyset woman in a nightgown appeared in the doorway. She took in Theon's appearance with a gasp. “Oh my. What on earth happened here?”

“Hi. I, uh. I got lost in the woods,” Theon said, shivering on the step. “Your dog showed me to the house, I just… I don’t mean to intrude-“

“You poor thing! Why don’t you come in, you look about ready to catch your death.” She ushered him inside with a look of distaste at the dog. “_That_ can go back to the kennels where it belongs. You’re very fortunate dear, those things are utter beasts. More often than not they come back from the forest simply _covered_ in grime and gore.”

Theon felt heat wash over him as he crossed the threshold and nearly cried in relief.

“I’m Walda Bolton by the way,” she said, sitting Theon down in the foyer before looking meaningfully at the butler. “We’ll have some tea brought over for you, and some towels.”

Even though Theon had his suspicions he still cringed to hear them confirmed.

“Theon Greyjoy.” He rubbed his throat to thaw out his voice. “Thank you. Is, uh… is Ramsay home?”

Walda’s expression flickered, if anything becoming more guarded upon learning Theon wasn’t a complete stranger to her family.

“You’re one of Ramsay’s friends?”

“I… I know him.”

“Oh.” She looked him over with keener eyes, brow pinched as if mildly confused. “Well, I can see if he’s awake?”

“There’s no need.”

Of all the ways Theon imagined meeting Roose Bolton (and he hadn’t, never, not even in his nightmares) it wasn’t while dripping onto his marble floor as the man stared him down in a silk bathrobe.

Even his most fevered dreams were neither that cruel nor creative.

“Dr. Bolton. I-“

“Good evening, Mr. Greyjoy. I was wondering when we’d have our first proper encounter.” Roose Bolton had the same icy eyes as his son, but they were dull and lifeless. “Walda, why don’t you keep our guest company. I’ll go and… rouse my son.”

“Of course.”

They watched him ascend the stairs and disappear from sight.

Theon uncomfortably cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Bolton. I don’t know what happened.”

“Don’t be sorry, dear. And please, it’s Walda. You must have gotten terribly turned around in the dark. I can’t imagine what lured you out there.”

“I think I was sleepwalking.” It was easier than explaining the bouts of fevered, sleep deprived delirium he’d been dealing with. “I haven’t been feeling very well lately.”

“You do seem to be running a bit warm. After this little adventure I expect it’ll get worse before it gets better.” Walda pushed a cup of hot tea into his hands. “Drink that slowly, love.”

“Thank you.”

The whole experience felt thoroughly unreal. Theon was dissociating too severely to even be horrified by his near brush with death.

She draped a warm towel over his shoulders and it was ridiculous how gratifying he found the maternal gesture. The woman didn’t even seem to be that much older than he was, for goodness sake.

“What’s all this, then?”

They both gave a little jump.

Ramsay was leaning against the bannister. He was in joggers and a sleeveless shirt and looked for all the world like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Oh, Ramsay. Poor Theon was just found wandering the woods at this awful hour,” Walda said. “I rather hope you didn’t pull one of your little pranks on him. He nearly froze to death out there.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ramsay fixed Theon with a piercing stare. “Alright. I’ll take him off your hands.”

Walda faltered a moment, looking concerned. “But-“

“Let them be, Walda.” Roose Bolton said, looming from whatever shadow he’d been haunting. “This is Ramsay’s responsibility.”

“Well… I suppose…”

Theon shakily stood up, setting his empty cup aside. “Thank you for all your help. I really appreciate it.”

Instantly she warmed. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all! No decent person would have left you out in the cold, especially in that state.”

Theon tried to look unafraid as he dragged himself up the stairwell.

“Up you get.” Ramsay took him by the elbow and pulled him the rest of the way.

“Ramsay,” Roose Bolton said stonily. “You’d do well to remember what we spoke about.”

“Of course father,” Ramsay said curtly. “You know I always treasure our little talks.”

He led Theon further down that hall, deeper into the embrace of the modern castle he called a home.

“Where are we going?”

“To get you sorted out before you die of hypothermia in my house,” Ramsay said casually. “Just couldn’t wait to see me again, hm?”

“Shut up. I don’t even know how I got here.”

Theon was sure he ought to be more concerned, but frankly he was still too tired and too far over the edge to feel much of anything.

* * *

He was brought to what was presumably Ramsay’s room, which looked considerably more normal than Theon might have expected. The torture devices must’ve been downstairs.

Ramsay sat him down on the edge of the bathtub. Theon had never in his life owned a tub that he could submerge his chest and knees in at once, but this one was deep enough to properly drown a man.

Probably a poor train of thought.

“Come on, then,” Ramsay said, pulling off Theon’s soaked hoodie. “Unless you actually want to freeze here.”

Theon weakly scoffed. “As if you’d let me die like _that_.”

There was a flicker of a smile before Ramsay tugged pointedly at his trousers. “These too.”

“Just so’s you know,” Theon muttered, shuffling his legs free of the damp cotton, “I’m not that easy.”

“Uh huh.”

It didn’t feel sexual, at least not to his own wrung out mind. Bolton could get out of it what he liked, for all Theon cared.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he said dully as he pulled a thick bathrobe over his shoulders.

“I’ll say.”

“I mean it.” A pause. “Though I guess it can’t be worse than whatever’s wrong with you.”

“You’re not very grateful, are you?”

“No.” Theon sobered further. “Not ever.”

“We’ll just have to work on that, won’t we.” Ramsay wiped the worst of the dirt and tree sap from Theon’s skin with a warm towel. “I’ll find you some clothes. Wait here.”

Theon watched him go, the inside of his mind blissfully quiet. He felt numb to the world, and even though it came with a bone-deep exhaustion, he hoped it never ended. He was tired of feeling.

Maybe he should’ve been turning tail and making back for the woods, rather than being in closed quarters with a tried and true psychopath. How dare his body feel calmed by this man’s presence? Ramsay had cut his way into Theon’s life and carved a place for himself by force. Theon could see exactly what would happen if their souls collided and it was no joyful union, but a consumption. Ramsay was stronger than him in every way, and under that power Theon feared he would cease to exist.

_Isn’t that what you want?_

Maybe. Existence was so draining. As fiercely proud and independent as Theon was, occasionally (drunkenly) he might find himself wishing someone would just take everything off his hands. No effort meant no failure, no choice meant no mistakes. No freedom meant no responsibility, no blame.

God he was pathetic.

Ramsay returned with a stack of clothes under his arm. Theon felt pins and needles running up and down his limbs as they began to thaw, wincing as he pulled on a long sleeve shirt and thick winter hoodie that smelled of familiar cologne. Ramsay motioned at the pants and boxers that were left on the counter.

“I don’t suppose you want me to help you into those.”

“Uh. I can do it.”

“Suit yourself.”

The bathroom door shut behind him and Theon prayed to whatever god listening that he never regained his ability to feel mortification. He wasn’t sure he’d survive.

The underwear hung loose on his hips, as did the fleece-lined joggers, but the latter at least came with a drawstring. He pulled on the thick wool socks and finally felt some measure of relief from the aching cold that rang through his bones.

He was just so tired. He could even feel himself beginning to wobble in place, sickness and exhaustion both dragging him down.

Ramsay nudged the door open. “You alright in there? Or did you need help after all?”

“No, sorry. I just. Don’t want to move.”

“Hm.” Ramsay slung his arm over his shoulder and it was a bit embarrassing really, how apparently easy he found it to just manhandle and hoist Theon around.

Theon fell into the bed and nearly passed out then and there.

“… Is your mattress heated?”

Ramsay gave him a deadpan look. “You are aware how far north we are? Of course my mattress is heated.”

Theon flung and arm over his face. “Fuck.”

“They found your car a little ways up the road,” Ramsay said, nudging and rolling him under the covers. “Halfway into a ditch with the engine still running. Fortunately it looks like you were doing fifteen kilometers tops. We’ll have it towed back here.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I just had a county-wide breakdown and showed up half-dressed at your house.”

“As I’ve said, the worst thing you could have been was boring.”

Theon peered up at him irritably. “I can’t believe you still find this funny.”

“It is funny. Or you are. Whichever.” Ramsay finished fussing with the blankets and straightened. “I can leave if you want.”

“It’s very late for you to pretend to be chivalrous.”

“Well the point here is for you to actually get some sleep.”

Theon lay in his nest of warmth, sensation slowly creeping back into his limbs. “...You can stay.”

Ramsay raised brow at him in mild surprise. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Theon said. “I’m… having a hard time telling what’s real lately.”

“And I’m real?”

“More real than me.” Theon sank further into the covers. “It feels like any day now I’m just gonna disappear. Wash away like sand.”

Ramsay slowly climbed into bed, watching Theon like he was an animal at risk of spooking.

Theon sighed, closing his eyes. “Do you believe in soul sickness?”

A shrug. “I’ve heard of it.”

“I think I might have caught something like that.”

Ramsay hummed, a solid source of heat against Theon's back. “You know what they say the cure is, don’t you?”

Theon grumbled warningly. “Don’t you push me, Bolton. We are not okay.”

He felt Ramsay bristle against him.

“I’ve striven to accommodate you, your sensibilities, and your abundant nonsense every step of the way, and you’re _still_ being difficult. Just what the hell is the problem now?”

“Fuck, where do I start? The fact that you kill innocent women?”

“Oh please. The girls you’re talking about didn’t have the cleanest hands either. No one who runs around with me does.”

“I’m starting to get the sense that I’m not your usual type.”

“I don’t expect I’m yours either.”

Theon snorted into the pillow. “You tried to drown me for doing my job.”

“I did not,” Ramsay said. “I dunked you in the water a little bit. I was always going to let you up.”

“You fried me with a shock collar.”

“My anger might have gotten the better of me.”

“I didn’t even instigate the kiss!”

“Sweetling, you don’t want to know what I would have done if you had.”

Theon scowled. “You also threatened my best friend’s life, not to mention triggered a goddamn psychotic episode in me as a result.”

“I do not accept blame for your outbursts,” Ramsay said carelessly. “Even ignoring how emotional you are, that’s hardly fair. As for _Robb Stark_… I still haven’t made up my mind on what to do about him.”

Theon gnawed the inside of his cheek. It was plain to see that Ramsay was beholden to his father, and it was doubtful that Roose Bolton would sanction a declaration of war on the Starks when the grudging peace between their houses seemed to be suiting everyone just fine.

But Ramsay was a wild card. He could make it look like an accident and opt to deal with the consequences later.

“He’s my brother.”

A disbelieving laugh. “Is that right. Snog all your brothers, do you?”

“He was just trying to protect me. Went about it in a kind of insulting way, but…”

The kiss made a weird sort of sense, as far as last-ditch efforts went. Theon had once said that he wished Robb was his soulmate, after all. Not that he could tell Ramsay that.

“He just panicked. He thinks I’m using you as my newest means of self harm, and must’ve thought that presenting himself as an alternative was a solution.”

“Idiot.”

“He can be.” Theon twisted around so that he and Ramsay were now pressed chest to chest, breathing each other's air. “Tell me how I can make this right. Don’t hurt Robb. He’s my best friend, I owe him everything.”

Ramsay’s eyes were cold. He looked Theon over with detached interest, taking note of every point of skin contact between them.

“You’ll stay with me?” He asked, tone unreadable. "You'll stop resisting and yield to what I say."

Theon cautiously nodded. Running from Ramsay clearly wasn’t going to work. All it did was make the man more volatile and weigh Theon down with soul sickness. Maybe pulling Ramsay’s strings was a better tactic. He had to at least try, for Robb.

“We’ll do this for real, you and me,” Theon said carefully. “Clearly neither of us will know what the fuck we’re doing, but we’ll work it out.”

This was mad. Maybe Robb was right and it would get him killed, but he couldn’t see the alternative.

“You’ll be mine and mine only,” Ramsay said seriously. “If I catch you fucking around-“

“You won’t,” Theon said. “And you won't really hurt me, will you? Not… not badly? Not like those girls.”

It was ridiculous to ask, what with the drowning and the electrocution, but still.

“Of course not.” Ramsay kissed his forehead. “You’ll see, love. I’ll take only good care of you.”

Theon didn't believe it for a second, but once lights went out he could no longer fight the need to sleep.

He dreamt of thunderstorms on the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bumped the chapter count up to 4, but to be honest it might stretch up to 5. I've got to face the music and concede that this story will not be done by Halloween. RIP y'all  
Edit: longestsighever.mp3


	4. Chapter 4

Theon woke feeling warm, almost excessively so.

He was also unusually comfortable, cozily ensconced underneath thick covers and between silk sheets. He was accustomed to crashing on his aged mattress or secondhand couch after a long night of ill-advised drinks or drunken sex, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d rested this well.

This was nice. Nicer than he was used to. Smelled nice too. Theon’s apartment always smelled like weed and spilled whiskey. His addled brain slowly booted up as he snuggled deeper into his nest.

Was he at Robb’s place? No, no… He and Robb were fighting. Fighting because… because-

Theon’s eyes shot open. “Oh my god.”

Ramsay grumbled drowsily, the sound resonating through his chest. Which Theon had been laying upon all night.

Since last night. Last night, which had been _real_.

“Either go back to sleep or have your breakdown quietly,” Ramsay mumbled.

He gave a languid stretch and Theon felt every shift of his muscles, held flush against the hard lines and unequivocally masculine build of Ramsay’s form. All solid, all real.

Not good.

“I sleep walked through the forest in my pajamas,” Theon whispered in horror. “I met your parents half-delirious and on the brink of hypothermia.”

“Mmhm.”

“I crashed my car on the edge of your property.”

“Nn. That makes it sound more impressive than it was. I’d call it more… ‘slightly tipped’ than outright crashed.”

“Your dad saw me in soaked clothes, with no socks, high on fever after nearly killing myself in the woods.”

“I don’t know why the socks bit stands out to you, but alright.”

“You should have let me die. Fuck.” Theon covered his face like it would somehow cover his shame. “This is the worst.”

“It’s not the best,” Ramsay said brightly. “For you anyway. I had a great night, personally.”

Theon wished he could disappear. “Did… did you actually undress me?”

“A little bit.”

“Oooh my god.”

“I thought you were _adorable_, for what it’s worth.” Ramsay gave him a brief squeeze, further bringing to Theon’s attention that they were all but tangled together.

“I’m sure it’s worth plenty when this night is going to haunt me the rest of my days!” Theon exclaimed, voice nearly breaking in the process.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“It’s your parents, Ramsay. Your family. Probably your security team too, gods preserve me.”

Ramsay’s eyes immediately brightened. “I bet there’s video.”

“I hate you. You’re terrible. All you do is find joy in my suffering.”

“Well it’s not _all _I do.” Ramsay’s hands roamed freely across Theon’s back. “Do you happen to remember what we talked about last night? The promise you made me?”

Theon inhaled deeply. “I do. And you remember your promise too, about Robb?”

Ramsay scowled. “It’s my right to take him to task for what he did.”

“But you won’t,” Theon said pleadingly. “Because we have a deal, and you swore you wouldn’t.”

Ramsay growled, eyes dark.

“I couldn’t take it if Robb got hurt,” Theon insisted. “I wouldn’t recover.”

He knew Ramsay wouldn’t like to hear it, but it had to be said.

His eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t see what the bloody hell is so special about a spoiled little golden boy.”

“Sure you do. You’ve been in my head. You know exactly what he means to me, and it’s not _that_.”

“Yes, fine. But that was then. You don’t need him now,” Ramsay said testily. “I sure didn’t see him here last night, picking you up after you had your little spasm in the woods. I’m the one you should go to when you want to fucking cry on somebody, not him.”

“Oh yeah? And what about when you’re the one who’s making me cry?”

Arms tightened around him like a vice.

“_Especially _then.”

Theon sighed. “Robb’s not just some guy. He’s my family. The Starks are important to me, I need you to accept that.”

Ramsay made a noise of disgust. “You’re asking a lot of me.”

It took all of Theon’s willpower to not lash out in that moment.

“You’re asking a fair bit from me too,” he said through grit teeth. “You want me to overlook that you torture people for fun and money. That you apparently kill your exes. That you have, with little justification, already done me physical harm. Not to mention you further fucked what little standing I have with my house. _None _of which you have even faked an apology for, so I am _sorry_ if that doesn’t stack up against a split-second kiss that neither party actually wanted.”

There was a moment of silence and Theon could feel Ramsay seething with each rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t kill _all _my exes.” He locked his arms before Theon could angrily push away. “_But._ I understand how you might have… reservations. About us. So if this is what it takes for you to finally come to heel, then fine. I guess.”

“Really? You’ll let it go?”

Ramsay glowered. “I didn’t say that. But it’s nothing you’ll need to worry your pretty head about, alright?”

The wave of relief was almost overwhelming.

“Thank you. Oh my god, thank you.” Theon pressed into the embrace, arms twining around Ramsay’s shoulders.

Robb was safe. Whatever Ramsay did to Theon didn’t matter.

“Now,” Ramsay said. “There is the small matter regarding your end of the deal.”

Theon faltered. “Yeah? I mean. We’re an actual couple now. Like you wanted.”

“I see your confusion. That’s all very lovely, but I was thinking of a more substantial demonstration.”

Theon physically felt his blood pressure rise. “Uh.”

Ramsay rolled his eyes. “Not _that._ Get your mind out of the gutter for ten minutes, will you? No, there’s something that I need you to do for me.”

“Oh. Like a favor?”

“Not exactly. It’s very simple. Easiest thing in the world, really.”

Ramsay was using an offhand tone that Theon had come to consider a red flag. Although who was he kidding, Ramsay Bolton was nothing but red flags.

“All you need to do,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “Is accept a gift from me.”

Theon blinked. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

It sounded like something from those dark fairy stories: seemingly innocuous words with all sorts of hidden layers. ‘Promise to accept every present I give you, even if it’s a knife to your throat or a flaming torch in your bed’. But what choice did he have?

“Oh. Well… I guess that’s fine?” Theon said despite his confusion and unease. “I don’t really get gifts.”

A holiday phone call from Yara, gift cards from the Starks. Nothing to make a big deal about.

Ramsay kissed him lightly on his temple. “That is not something you’ll have to worry about.”

* * *

Theon was no longer delirious but he remained feverish and nauseous, likely on account of his midnight foray in the woods. He just counted himself lucky that he hadn’t lost any toes in the experience. Thanks to the illness excuse he’d been mercifully been allowed to avoid breakfast with Ramsay’s parents, so that was at least a plus.

“I need to find my phone,” he said, nibbling on a piece of toast. "People are going to think you abducted me."

For the second time, technically.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one and I don’t need a sugar daddy,” Theon said shortly. “I need _my _phone. There’s stuff on it.”

“Like what, your cock shots?”

“Like my login information for just about every account I have.”

Ramsay stole a sausage off his plate. “You’re too sick to go anywhere. We found your keys in your car, I’ll have someone check on your place for you.”

Theon slowly sipped the medicinal-tasting tea that had been brought to him. He was suddenly very aware of how within Ramsay’s power it was to keep him from leaving. Even if the Bolton estate wasn’t in the middle of nowhere it’d be unsettling.

“It’s alright. I’m feeling better already.”

Ramsay looked unamused. “Forgive my skepticism. You do realize how close you came to dying last night, don’t you?”

“I… yeah.”

Ramsay dismissively turned his back as he pulled on a clean shirt. “You’ll stay here until your fever goes down. In bed preferably, but feel free to wander about if you really want to.”

“Not worried I’ll stumble across any skeletons in your closets?”

“Of course not.” Ramsay pecked him on the cheek as he did up his buttons. “We have a very thorough disposal system.”

Theon winced. He’d probably have to get used to a lot more comments like that.

“And where are you going?”

“Work. I have a few outstanding projects that aren’t going to keep through the weekend,” Ramsay said. “Have to wrap things up before those deadlines expire.”

Theon did not and would not allow himself to read too far into those words.

“Where exactly do you work?”

“Here and there,” Ramsay said vaguely.

“Right. I guess this is that mob wife arrangement we talked about before.”

Ramsay shook his head like Theon was being childish.

“Sorry, I thought I was bound to Theon Greyjoy, not a Stark. You think your dad has the western seaboard in a choke because he’s a little mean in his _fishing_ business?” He snorted. “I seem to remember that the Greyjoys preside over all naval smuggling and trafficking of contraband for over half the bloody continent, and that anyone who interferes get sunk into the drink.”

Theon stared into the bedspread, counting the stitching. “I know.”

“And?”

“That’s not me. It’s never been.”

Though God knew he’d tried once, and everyone knew just how well that turned out.

His family had made their feelings clear: at bare minimum he needed to come home and cut all ties with the North, and if he wanted more than the minimum… well. He’d already failed _that_ particular test. He still wasn’t shunned or banished or anything, but he didn’t have access to any financial support either.

Ramsay tsked sympathetically, perching on the side of the bed beside him.

“It’s alright, love. I don’t care about that. You have me now to handle such things.” He stroked Theon’s cheek. “But you’ve _got_ to stop acting so bloody scandalized. I know you’re no ingénue.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

He was so used to being made to feel like his heritage was something he either had to apologize for or double down on, and in both cases he typically made an ass out of himself. He still lived with a strange mix of pride and shame regarding what he was and where he came from and it was freeing, in a darkly hilarious kind of way, to note that there was no chance in a million years he’d need fear moral judgement from the likes of Ramsay Bolton.

“You worry too much,” Ramsay said, climbing to his feet. “And over entirely the wrong things.”

“What exactly should I be worrying about?”

He got only a sly grin in response. “You behave yourself while I’m out. Avoid running off into the woods if you can.”

“I’m never going to live that down.”

“No, I suspect not.”

Theon watched him leave, still slumped in bed. He could only hope that the sooner his fever broke the sooner he’d be able to go home and properly collect himself.

* * *

He slept most of the day away. Every time he feverishly opened his eyes he found that someone had refilled the water jug and tea pot on the bedside table. It was a little disconcerting.

From what Theon had seen of the Bolton estate, it was likely constantly active with security and house staff. It was certainly different from the situation he’d been used to at Pyke or the Stark house, where a maid came maybe once a week and then left. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a whole hidden wing for the live-in service. Did the staff all know they were working for an old money crime lord?

When he felt well enough he got up to have a poke around the room. There wasn’t much to be found, presumably because leaving anything incriminating must have been a liability no matter how well-vetted your maid was. However Theon did find a case of hunting knives on the top shelf of the closet, and a small trunk beneath the bed containing what looked like an alarming assortment of BDSM implements.

He quickly slammed that shut before kicking it back to where he found it. He washed his hands.

Stashed in the bottom drawer of the bedside table was a stack of seemingly unrelated magazines, all bookmarked with sticky notes. It didn’t take long to realize their significance.

Theon had never felt embarrassed about his job in the past, but he couldn’t help but feel a little flustered as he thumbed through the old advertisements. He’d forgotten he’d even done some of these - the designer eyewear shoot, the timekeeper insert, the swimsuit spreads he’d done when he was still too young and green to tell Baelish ‘no’. A whole catalog of his work collected and stashed away in a drawer.

It’d be more flattering if he didn’t know for a fact that Ramsay wanted him to quit his job. Instead it felt more like evidence being amassed against him.

Theon closed the drawer and tried to shake off the crawling beneath his skin as he drifted across the room. There was a decent video game collection on the shelf, along with a few unlabeled discs that Theon didn’t want to investigate the contents of. A couple books as well, mainly old fables or historical anthologies.

_Stories where the monsters always win, no doubt._

There were some texts on biology and anatomy, plus a book or two on psychology. He wondered if Ramsay had gone to college for any of this or if it was all self-study. Theon had barely graduated high school, himself. He’d been a more avid reader as kid, but that passion had more or less died with his mother.

Having exhausted his immediate surroundings, Theon did eventually wobble his way out into the hallway. His center of gravity felt skewed but his mind was lucid, and that wasn’t something he would take for granted anytime soon.

A few turns made it quickly apparent just how large the Bolton house actually was. Despite having clearly been restored or renovated over the years to a somewhat contemporary style, there was a very old aura to the place. He knew what it felt like to walk halls whose bones had housed generations upon generations of kin.

He wasn’t too worried about getting lost because as suspected, despite its remote location the manor was not a lonely place. He could see and hear the service staff coming and going about their business. From one of the windows he could also see some extensions to the property sprawled out across the lawn and into the trees, where men wandered freely from one building to another.

At a normal estate this would not be concerning. Those buildings could easily be a greenhouse, guesthouses, extra storage, perhaps a garage for all the Boltons’ fancy cars. Maybe one of them was that indoor pool Ramsay mentioned. Walda already mentioned there was a kennel on the property. From the looks of things there was likely a horse stable as well.

Theon remembered that his family property on Pyke had a lot of men coming and going too. Most of them he’d called ’nuncle’ by default, even though he was probably only distantly related to a handful of them. Any visit from his actual uncles had been of much greater significance.

His father’s men mostly drifted to the house from the nearby docks and back, always just passing through. They went to Balon Greyjoy’s office with the door shut behind them, did their business and left. The Greyjoy house wasn’t a hub of activity like this. They did their dealings at sea and in the ports.

But they dealt in contraband. The Boltons dealt in… other things.

“Mr. Greyjoy.”

Theon spun around and the act nearly toppled him right off his feet. He blinked the vertigo from his vision.

“Ah, yes?”

Theon wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Roose Bolton was a statue playing (very half-heartedly) at being a living man. Or otherwise some sort of vampire. He was wearing a crisp button-up shirt complete with cufflinks and pressed slacks, despite being in the comfort of his own home. His eyes were like vacant glass as they burned into Theon’s soul.

“So glad to see you up and about after last night’s misadventure. I trust you’re feeling better.”

“Uh, yeah. Better. Not my best, but I’ll live.” Theon suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands, nor could he find a comfortable place to rest his eyes. “Ramsay’s got my keys and has sent someone to check on my place. I’m sure I’ll be able to get out of your way soon, once he gets back.”

Dr. Bolton’s expression did not change whatsoever when met with this information, and yet there was a distinctly sardonic, cynical vibe radiating off his person.

“I’m sure,” he drawled. “No rush, of course. My wife was worried when she heard you weren’t well enough to come down for breakfast. She’s sent the servants checking on you, as I’m sure you’ve noted.”

“Oh. I’ll be sure to thank her in person.”

“Mm.” Dr. Bolton’s ice-shard eyes slowly dragged over him, the aloof appraisal making Theon’s skin crawl. “Well. Since you have the time and ability, I was hoping to have a word with you. It seems rather overdue, actually.”

Theon felt like he was about to break into a sweat.

“Sure,” he said, voice uncomfortably pitched.

He was led down a few more labyrinthian halls to a home office. The space was nicely furnished, but sterile like a showroom would be. There was no hint of mess, no framed photos… nothing that gave any sense of humanity. Only his various surgical credentials were prominently hung on the walls.

Dr. Bolton sat himself behind a broad desk and motioned for Theon to take seat.

“I admit to being somewhat surprised, Mr. Greyjoy. When Ned Stark called me all those months ago, I assumed it would be the last we heard from you,” he said.

“I thought so too, sir.”

“You did seem so adamant. Did something change your mind?”

Aside from the threats to his best friend’s life, culminating in him damn near going crazy in the woods?

“Your son can be very. Persuasive, sir.”

“Indeed he can.” Dr. Bolton sat back in his chair, hands folded. “... You are not what I expected.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot.”

“To be fair, what I expected was nothing. Steep odds and all that.” Dr. Bolton negligibly tilted his head, looking almost curious. “I don’t imagine he’s what you expected either.”

Theon fought down a grimace. “I also expected nothing, sir.”

“Well you got a good deal more than that.”

Theon tried and failed to not look as pained and awkward as he felt.

“You must understand that my priority is the security and wellbeing of my house. Hence why this… unexpected variable would be of concern to me.”

“I haven’t- I haven’t told anyone anything, sir.”

Not Robb, not anybody.

“So you admit there are things to tell.”

Theon winced.

Dr. Bolton fixed him with a bland stare. “I’m more than aware of my son’s activities, Mr. Greyjoy. It is imperative that I monitor his conduct at all times. Especially given his various proclivities.”

Theon had never really taken the time to wonder what Roose Bolton knew - if he was was aware that Ramsay killed or tormented women for fun, or that he’d had his men snatch Theon off the street once out of jealousy.

“I am pleased that you’ve kept certain details to yourself, of course. I had contingency plans in mind if you did not, but it’s easier for everyone that they remain unnecessary.” Dr. Bolton rested his folded hands on the desk. “You will agree that my son can be somewhat difficult to control. If you provide me with another means of keeping him in check, I’m more than happy to have you in the family.”

Theon wanted nothing more than to politely refuse.

“However, there is still the chance that you will do just the opposite,” Dr. Bolton said, dropping the room temperature by about ten degrees. “Be assured Mr. Greyjoy, that if you in any way become a liability to me or my operation, we will have a problem.”

“I. I don’t intend to be a problem, sir.”

“I should hope not. Your ties to Starks are… worrisome, I must say. They are somewhat at odds with your family background.”

Theon felt a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach. The way Dr. Bolton was looking at him rang too true to how so many had looked at him in the past. That mixture of suspicion, bewilderment and disdain. _Whose side are you on?_

He could only ever be on his own side in the end. God knew someone had to put Theon Greyjoy first.

Roose Bolton must have seen something pass over Theon’s face, because he nodded mildly.

“I suppose we’ll see. By all means return to my son, Mr. Greyjoy. You still appear unwell.”

If Theon had left that office any quicker, he’d have been running.

* * *

Ramsay returned late that night, after Theon had already endured a deeply awkward dinner with his parents. Walda Bolton seemed like a genuinely nice and upbeat woman, but it was a little hard to relax with her husband at the other end of the table watching them like a bored ice sculpture.

“Interesting family you’ve got.”

“Aren’t they all.” Ramsay briefly looked him over as he undid his shirt. “You’re looking better."

“I’m not dying, so that’s something.” Theon was sprawled out on the bed, one of the history books resting on his hip. “Did you find my phone?”

Ramsay wordlessly pulled a phone with a familiar case from his pocket, and even from across the room Theon could see the spiderweb of cracks fracturing its surface.

He launched upright. “How the fuck did that happen?”

“You’re better equipped to know than me.” Ramsay placed it carelessly on the desk.

Theon stared at the lifeless device with growing unease. “Where are my car keys?”

Ramsay gave him a sharp, sidelong look. “Why?”

_Because I am stuck in a crime lord’s house, in the middle of nowhere, with no phone._

“I was just… just wondering.”

“Wondering if you can sneak off in the night? It almost sounds like you don’t trust me.”

Theon scowled. “We went from electroshock torture to sharing a bed, and you’re on my ass about trust?”

“You’re still holding onto that?” Ramsay scoffed. “I thought we were past this.”

Theon set his jaw, trying to remind himself that ticking the man off now would be even more unwise than usual.

“Excuse me for being a little overwhelmed.”

“Get over it. I let you have your fun and it nearly got you dead in a ditch. From now on we’re doing things my way.”

Ramsay climbed atop the bed, easily bracketing Theon with his weight. It was downright unfair how small he managed to make Theon feel. His presence, his words, his body language - every aspect of Ramsay Bolton seemed designed for intimidation.

“As usual, you don’t seem to be appreciating your circumstances. I’ll be plain for you. In my father’s words, ‘I can keep you, _if_ I can keep you’. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“It means that you’re a flight risk. A danger to the operation. A danger which, one way or another, needs to be dealt with,” Ramsay said. “My ability to control you is what’s keeping you safe. If my father has any reason to doubt that ability…”

Theon had to physically swallow down the words that had been working up his throat.

_Your father may think I’m a liability, but he thinks you’re one too._

Maybe it was better to keep his own conversation with Roose Bolton to himself. The man purportedly wanted Theon to control Ramsay, and Ramsay to control Theon. It all sounded like an even greater recipe for disaster.

“To that end, let me make this clear: I would_ very_ much like to kill Robb Stark - but then I’d have to deal with you and my father bitching.” Ramsay shook his head in disgust. “However, should you divulge any of my family’s secrets to the Starks, my father will no longer have that reservation. So I would think very carefully before you betray me or renege on our deal.”

Theon tried to stay level but it was difficult with Ramsay looming over him. He was breathing in the man’s cologne and absorbing his heat and it was messing with his head.

“I’m not trying to pick a fight here,” he said carefully. “But you have to admit that you have a very… forceful personality.”

Ramsay grunted in acknowledgement.

“It’s just going to take some time for me to adjust, okay?”

“You don’t need more time. All you have to do is trust me. Trust that I know what’s best,” Ramsay said in that needling, pleasant-but-not tone of his. “I said I’d take care of you didn’t I?”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Theon snapped. “Not my father, not the Starks, and sure as hell not you!”

“Says the man who nearly froze to death,” Ramsay retorted. “You’re a living mess, Greyjoy. Admit it. You need someone looking after you and no one wants the job but me.”

Theon felt his face flush with a mix of outrage and shame.

“Fuck you.”

The slap left Theon's ears ringing, vision momentarily whiting out on impact.

“Look at yourself,” Ramsay said scornfully. “Lazy. Vain. Undisciplined. I know what you need and so do you. It’s why you act out. Practically _begging_ for someone to care enough to intervene.”

“That’s not true!” His protests felt weak even to his own ears.

“Your dad never bothered, did he? Ned Stark either, I reckon. Didn’t want to ‘overstep his bounds’ or something like that.” Ramsay glowered. “And I know for certain Robb Stark doesn’t have the balls to collar you.”

“Don’t talk like you understand me! You don’t, and you don’t know Robb either!”

“I’ve been in your head, remember? I know all about what a needy bitch you are.” Ramsay rested his hand on Theon’s throat, heavy and warm. “Well you’ve got my attention, Greyjoy. Aren’t you thrilled? I’m about to give you everything you ever wanted.”

“And… what exactly is that?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“A firm but fair hand to steer you. To praise you when you do well, scold you when you do wrong.”

Theon chose not to voice his skepticism over Ramsay’s approximation of ’fair’.

“I’m not some beast you can train.”

“We’re all beasts. Some of us are just more aware of the fact than others.”

Theon swallowed against the press of Ramsay’s hand and watched the other man’s pupils dilate.

“And while you’re giving me everything I ‘need’, what do you get out of all this?”

“I get you. Obviously.”

Ramsay leaned forward, blanketing Theon with his form.

“You were made for me,” he breathed against Theon’s ear. “There are so many things I can’t wait to do with you. You’ll see. We’re going to have such fun together.”

Their eyes met and time slowed down. Theon could hear his heartbeat, thudding in time with the labored pace of Ramsay’s breathing. For a terrible moment he was sure Ramsay would kiss him, at which point… fuck, Theon didn’t even know. Maybe the world would just end.

Rationally he still had no idea how he could be bound to this man, but physically he could feel something undefined and unspoken lacing the air between them. Against his better judgement something was brewing in his chest - something electric, burning hot and cold all at once. Chemicals were reacting under his skin, causing the red band on his finger to tingle and ache. Being bound to Ramsay Bolton felt like standing within the eye of a storm. Any moment the calm would break and the hurricane would close in around him.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” Ramsay said lowly, “I might end up doing something you’ll regret.”

“Oh?” His voice was almost inaudible.

“Mm. And it would be unfortunate, since I’ve been making such an effort not to scare you off.”

“I might…” Theon cleared his throat. “I might need you to try a little harder.”

Ramsay made a disapproving sound before rolling off of him.

“You’re lucky I’m playing the long game with you,” he said as he shed his shirt and made for the bathroom. “And luckier still that I’m enjoying myself.”

But they both knew his patience was bound to run out. Ramsay’s recent victory would tide him over in the meantime - Theon in his home, in his bed, the deal struck between them - but eventually he’d want more. Regardless of what Theon was prepared to give.

* * *

Theon spent a total of five days in the Bolton house.

On the fifth Ramsay gave him back his car keys, along with a new phone.

“What’s that for?”

Ramsay had given him a bored look. “Don’t be coy.”

“I’m not being coy. It’s an honest question, because I know you did not buy me a luxury phone.”

Theon knew how these things worked. Giving out loans you knew a person could never pay back? It was obvious. Nothing came free and gods only knew the interest Bolton would charge. The last thing he needed was to be deeper in the hole with this guy.

“I’ve already had your old phone’s number and contents transferred over. Your five hundred selfies are safe.” Ramsay dropped the phone in his lap. “I want to be sure I can reach you at all times.”

Theon looked at it numbly. “Is this that gift you mentioned? For our deal?”

“It’s not. We’ll call this a trade: I give you this phone, and in return you _always _pick up when I call. You’ll answer when I text. No matter what.”

“No matter- Ramsay I can’t promise that I’ll always be able to pick up for you.” Theon sighed. “Shit happens.”

Ramsay’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you don’t, I’ll assume the worst. And act accordingly.”

Fucked if Theon wanted to learn what that meant. He'd assume he was dead? Assume he was screwing around?

“You’re impossible.”

Theon turned the phone over in his hands. It was nice. _Really_ nice. The Greyjoy and Harlaw families had money but the Ironborn were not an indulgent people. Splendor and luxury were considered frivolous. Signs of weakness. Theon had always liked shiny things, before he was shown the cost of being vapid and shallow where his father could see. Since then he’d learned to make do with less and be grateful for it.

“I’ll use this until I get my own,” he said finally.

Ramsay looked like he wanted to argue with him on it, but apparently decided to let it slide. For the moment. He tossed Theon’s car keys over.

“Here. Your fever’s broke and you seem fit enough.”

For a long moment Theon just stared at them.

“You’re letting me go?”

Ramsay raised his brow. “You’re not a prisoner.”

Theon blinked. He had in fact been kept there with threats, intimidation, and the withholding of his car and they both knew it. But alright.

“Okay. So I’m just. Gonna go then.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Was that a trick question? Nothing was ever plain or straightforward with Ramsay. Everything felt like a lose-lose situation where this man was concerned: damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

The past week would remain a thoroughly surreal chapter of Theon’s life. The soul sickness, the woods. Eating at the Boltons’ table, wearing Ramsay’s clothes every day and sleeping against him every night. Maybe he had actually gone mad after all.

“I should really go check on my place,” he said. “I’ve also never gone dark like this before. Someone might be worried.”

Probably not though. The only one who ever actively thought of him was Robb, and they were… well. Complicated, at the moment.

Ramsay seemed to discern as much by the skeptical tint of his expression.

“Well don’t let me stop you.” He caught Theon’s arm. “Just remember our arrangement. You’re mine now. And so long as you use that phone, you answer for me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Theon said through grit teeth before pushing his way past.

* * *

His car was a little beat up but it wasn’t a problem. A few more dents and scratches on the damn thing wouldn’t make a difference. All he could think of was tearing out of the Boltons’ drive and down the forest road, _I’m free _chanting in his head over and over.

It felt too good to be true.

Now that he was away from the estate and no longer surrounded by Ramsay’s things and the scent of his cologne, he felt like he could finally think clearly.

He had a boyfriend. Ramsay Bolton was his _boyfriend_. Oh god. Oh fuck.

The new (beautiful, shiny) phone sat in his passenger seat and he could scarcely look at it. Bolton was a hunter and he was laying bait and setting traps and Theon was smarter than that. He was still a Greyjoy and he wasn’t going to kneel down for the first person to show him some attention or nice things.

Theon pulled up to his apartment complex with a wave of relief. He was home. He ascended to his floor, ready to drop into his dubious old couch with a beer and wash the whole past week away.

He tiredly stepped through the door and tossed his keys onto the table -

They hit the floor with a clatter.

Theon turned on the lights. His apartment was completely empty. For a moment he wondered if he’d walked into the wrong unit, but obviously he hadn’t. Had he been evicted?

Ramsay picked up on the second ring.

“I thought you had someone come by to check on my apartment.”

“_I did._”

“Well did they fail to tell you that I’ve been robbed?”

Theon was making the rounds through his apartment, footsteps echoing in the emptiness. His bathroom, his bedroom, his living room - mess and all, everything had been stripped down to empty. Even his kitchen was bare.

_“You haven’t been robbed, Theon. Do you remember your promise to me?”_

“Sure, your mysterious present.” Theon opened and shut his empty cupboards. “What, are you getting me new furniture?”

_“Well in a manner of speaking, yes.”_

“Ramsay. You just had your goons pick through all my worldly belongings and cart them off to gods know where.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Where the fuck is my stuff?”

“_It’s all perfectly safe. Well, the stuff worth keeping is. Most of it I did you the favor of discarding. That couch looked old enough to have seen the Dawn Age._”

“Ramsay-“

_“Everything else was moved or stored. I took the liberty of setting aside the items of presumable sentimental value. It’s by the door, you can take it with you when the car arrives.”_

Theon pivoted around to spot a small cardboard box he’d missed coming in, set against the wall along with his archery case. The box was stuffed with an assortment of items: his awards, his laptop, some framed photographs… a plush octopus that had probably lived under his bed for the past three years.

“Just so you know,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “That was a gift.”

Jon had smugly given it to him at a carnival after Theon bet he couldn’t win one of the dart games.

_“What was?”_

“You know exactly what!” Theon rummaged deeper through the box, relieved to find most items of importance accounted for. “… Where are all my photos with Robb?”

The phone line went dead as Ramsay hung up on him.

Theon did eventually find them, along with a bunch of his more ragged belongings in the dumpster by his apartment. He wasn’t too torn up to see most of them go: stained clothes, jeans with holes in them, plates and silverware he’d bought from secondhand thrift stores… Theon hadn’t invested much on the homemaking front.

But if Ramsay thought that his pride outweighed his spite and would keep him from climbing into that bin? Bastard had another thing coming.

Eventually a few of Ramsay’s boys pulled up. None of them were willing to follow him or try to wrestle him out of the garbage, so they all just stood around being pricks whilst Theon sifted through his belongings.

“You fuckers threw out my shot glass collection!?” Theon swore over the sound of toppling glass.

“Sure did.”

“Stole your weed, too.”

“You greedy cunts!” Theon kicked a box of worn-through shoes out of his way. “And you tossed my CDs!”

“Your taste in music sucks.”

“Who even keeps discs anymore?”

“Fuck every last one of you.” Theon placed the cracked photograph frames he’d salvaged into his little box (he and Robb graduating, going on vacation, celebrating a birthday…) and hoisted himself clumsily out of the dumpster.

“He’s beauty and he’s grace,” one of the goons said dryly as he motioned at the open car door. “Can we get the fuck out of this alleyway please?”

“Now that he’s going to stink up Skinner’s car with trash.”

Theon grudgingly allowed himself to be shoved into the car, his box settled on his lap. They made the commute to uptown, to an upscale region just between the business and historic districts. The car pulled up to a glossy high-rise, disconcertingly positioned within direct line of sight to the Bolton Tower.

Theon understood that the company created high-end surgical instruments and medical equipment. The family also owned the largest private hospital in the North, which was rather ironic in his opinion. The corporate headquarters must have been only a brisk walk away from where they were now.

“What the hell is this?”

“End of the line, princess. Out. I need to sanitize my car already.”

Theon stepped uncertainly onto the curb, box under his arm and archery case heavy in one hand. A sharp-dressed woman was waiting for him by the doors, looking him up and down dispassionately.

“Mr. Greyjoy?”

“Yes?”

“If you’d follow me this way, please.”

He was led through a polished lobby and to a private elevator, heart hammering all the while. He wanted to say that there had been some kind of mistake, but he knew better. The ride up was excruciatingly long, his ears even popping from the shift in altitude.

When they stepped out the woman wasted no time rattling on about the penthouse amenities and features, all of which was white noise in Theon’s ears. He dropped his archery case to the floor with a thud and clutched his box to his chest. With wide eyes he took in the vast, curved expanse of wall-to-wall windows overlooking the city.

“… I’m in a fish bowl.”

_I am so screwed._

* * *

As soon as his tour guide left Theon made a beeline for the nearest motel. He took the phone with him because he had no other option, but was already making plans to get one of his own at first opportunity.

It was like a perversion of some bored housewife’s fantasy - a wealthy soulmate to steal you away and shower you with everything you never got but always felt you deserved. But Theon was a pirate king’s son and he knew that everything, every _single_ thing came with strings attached. Those strings would tangle him up and choke him dead if he let them.

The phone was a leash, the apartment a cage. With this trajectory, next up would be a car that Theon was only allowed to drive to certain places. Eventually everything he had and everything he was would belong to Ramsay, with nothing that was his alone.

Maybe that was a trade some would be willing to make, but not Theon. Not even if it was for a man he could trust, and Ramsay Bolton was certainly not that.

He hesitated before answering his phone, but caved after the first ring.

“Trying to buy my love, Bolton?”

“_It’s a security precaution, Greyjoy. My family has enemies and since you’re useless at defending yourself, we need to do it for you._”

Theon was starting to get better at gauging Ramsay’s various tones and ways of speaking. Always so pleasant and cordial on the surface, but with a sincerity that ranged from genuinely convincing to mockingly false.

Beneath the surface sweetness, Ramsay did not sound happy.

“_Do I need to remind you of our arrangement?_”

“You said a gift, not an apartment worth a hundred million!” Theon argued, knees pressed to his chest on the springy motel bed. “And don’t pretend that this is for my benefit!”

“_What does that mean?_”

“I’m not an idiot. I see what you’re doing,” Theon hissed. “You need me to need you. And I _don’t._”

There was a cold beat of silence.

“_Let me restate your position, Greyjoy._” Ramsay said, words dripping in danger. “_If I can’t leash you, my father will have you killed. And if you break your agreement with me, come hell or high water I will find a way to kill Robb Stark._”

Theon felt his voice die in his throat, his organs shriveling beneath his ribs.

“I’m not breaking up with you. I just… I need some space.”

Ramsay gave a derisive laugh, as if Theon had just asked for the world on a platter.

“_You’re going to check out of that shitty motel room, get in your car, come back home and we’ll overlook this outburst as you being overwhelmed,_” he said.

“I know I said I’d accept your gift but that apartment is way too much. Can’t you at least put me somewhere else?”

“_No. That building belongs to my family and it’s where you’ll live from now on. You can expect me to come and go throughout the week, depending on where my work takes me. You’ll likely spend most weekends with me at the estate. Understand?_”

“Why don’t you just move me into your room permanently?” Theon asked scornfully.

_“Because I don’t want you living under the same roof as my father. We also can’t trust you not to go snooping around where you shouldn’t just yet.”_

“Pesky thing isn’t it?” Theon sneered. “Trust.”

“_Not as pesky as patience,_” Ramsay shot back. “_and you’re quickly exhausting mine._”

Theon tiredly rubbed his eyes. He was backed in a corner and out of options.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said quietly. “It’s moving too fast.”

“_I’ve been waiting on you for nearly five months. Time to catch up._”

The call ended and it felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

* * *

Theon already knew he’d be going back to that damn penthouse. He didn’t have a choice. He checked out of the hotel and took a detour on the way back uptown.

He had debated himself about seeing Robb. It was safer if he didn’t, but then Robb would think Theon had cut him off because of the kiss, and that just wasn’t true. He couldn’t stand to leave Robb blaming himself for any of this.

He knocked on the apartment door, anxiety churning in his gut. He was only mildly surprised when Jon answered.

“Hey. I just uh. Wanted to talk to Robb.”

He wasn’t entirely sure of how much Jon knew. Probably everything. Robb had likely poured his heart out to him at first opportunity.

Jon looked him over up and down, a skeptical pinch to his brow.

“Really.”

“Um, yes? That’s why I’m here.”

“Well is it why you’ve been ghosting his messages?”

Theon groaned. “My phone got fucking trashed last week, okay. Is Robb in or not?”

“He’s here.”

“And you’re the new bouncer or something?”

Jon was still staring him down, those sullen eyes always seeing more than Theon had ever been comfortable with.

“… You don’t know.”

“Know?” Fear spiked through him. “Know what? Is he okay? Did something happen?”

“He and your soulmate got in a brawl the other night,” Jon said bluntly. “If you want to call it that. Bolton started having a go at Robb in a parking lot by one of the pubs. Things escalated. He was sober, Robb wasn’t. You can do the math.”

“Oh god. Was it bad?”

Theon had seen bruises on Ramsay’s knuckles and his lip had been swollen two nights ago, but he hadn’t asked. He’d assumed it was a ‘work’ thing and hadn’t wanted to know.

Jon shrugged. “Black eye, bruised rib. He’ll heal. We told the family it was just a random bar fight.”

“Fuck. This is my fault.”

“A little bit. Mostly it’s Ramsay Bolton being a scumbag,” Jon said. “Although the way he made it sound, you two are really a _thing_ now.”

Theon gnawed his inner cheek. There were things he couldn’t tell Robb because it would just be inviting a new wave of trouble. But he could tell Jon, couldn’t he? Jon would understand. He knew all about secrets.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Because your dad snapped his fingers and now you’re back on his strings, earning him blood money. I heard.”

“It’s not just that,” Theon said with a glare. “Ramsay he… he’s kind of crazy jealous.”

Jon looked at him dully. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m afraid he’ll hurt Robb, alright? Really hurt him, if I don’t do what he says.” Theon swallowed. “And Roose Bolton is definitely going to kill me if I become a liability, which I will if it looks like Ramsay can’t ‘handle’ me.”

Jon stared at him, his expression unmoving in the face of this news.

“I also had a soul sickness-induced psychotic break wherein I lost several hours of time, came to wandering the forest in my pajamas, and nearly froze to death before finding my way to the Bolton house. Where I have been sleeping the past five days or so because Ramsay wouldn’t let me have my car keys. So now I’m also terrified that I’ll actually go crazy if I try to shut the bastard out again.”

Jon slowly blinked. He took a deep breath. Blinked again.

“What the fuck, Theon.”

“I _know_,” Theon buried his face in his hands. “But you can’t tell Robb because he’ll freak out and pick another fight and it’ll all only get worse okay? I just- I don’t know what else to do!”

Jon shook his head, eyes staring into some abstract point in the middle distance. He carelessly waved Theon into the apartment.

“He’s in his room. A little stupid on pain meds, but he should be awake.”

“Thanks.”

“Theon,” Jon caught him with a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve always been an asshole. Just, fucking intolerable.”

“Wow Jon, tell me how you really feel.”

“You’re a smug, obnoxious prick and you made my teenage years even worse than they already were.” Jon sighed. “But even you deserve better than Ramsay Bolton.”

Theon didn’t have anything to say to that and Jon didn’t seem to have anything left to say at all. So he continued past.

He knew his way around the apartment and gave a polite knock on the bedroom door before sliding in. Grey Wind's ears perked up from his place on the floor, but the dog was too familiar with Theon to find him interesting enough to get up for. Robb was lounging on the bed, laptop streaming an unknown show as he hugged a bag of frozen peas to his side.

His eyes immediately widened at the sight of his guest.

“Theon!” He moved to get up, only to fall back with a wince.

“Fuck mate, don’t hurt yourself.”

“No, no I’m fine. Are you okay? When I didn’t hear from you, I… well I worried you never wanted to talk to me again.”

“I got blackout drunk and broke my phone,” Theon said, which wasn’t a huge stretch of the truth. “It’s been that way a few days now.”

“Oh.” Robb’s shoulders loosened somewhat with relief. “That’s good. I mean, not good, but. Yeah.”

Theon motioned at the freezer bag. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Robb scowled. “Your ‘boyfriend’ is a real piece of work. I bumped into him in the parking lot, or maybe he was waiting for me. We started arguing. He told me to back off, I told him much the same. He threatened me and I took a swing. Kind of went downhill from there, but punching him felt good.”

“I know the feeling.”

Robb looked at him sadly. “It’s true though, what he said. About you and him.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Robb closed his laptop with a tired swat. “I don’t want to have this fight with you again. I’ve said my bit. I can’t make you believe me, just like I can’t make you give up on your father. But I’m sorry about what I did. It wasn’t okay for me to try to manipulate you like that.”

“You were desperate. I get it.”

“I do love you. You know that, and you know in what way.”

Theon nodded. “It’s the same for me.”

“But you don’t really think all those things you said, do you?” Robb asked. “That we pity you or think you’re a charity case. I’ve never looked down on you.”

Theon didn’t completely believe him, but that was alright. He knew the good in Robb had always outweighed anything else. Unlike him.

“He’s really jealous of you,” Theon said, shifting the subject. “Always refers to you by your full name like a cartoon villain.”

Robb huffed. “He doesn’t deserve you. The gods did you a favor by splitting you two up.”

“And then they decided to have a good laugh by punting us together again.”

Robb’s eyes were so forlorn that Theon couldn’t help but carefully climb onto the bed and lean against him.

“He’s not going to let you see me anymore, is he.”

Theon grunted. “He can’t do that.”

“Can’t he?”

“If I’m going to kowtow to all of his stupid demands, he can damn well let me keep my best friend.”

“Demands?” Robb repeated. “What’s he asked you to do?”

He had to bite at least one bullet.

“He’s moved me into a new apartment.”

Robb nearly turned on him in surprise, giving another hiss of pain as his bruised rib protested.

“He _what?_ Theon, that’s-“

“Crazy, yeah. I’ll be getting used to that, I think.”

“Fucking hell. What a nutcase.” Robb squeezed his arm. “Theon, you have to promise me. If he turns abusive and really hurts you, or if he tries to… tries to force himself on you-“

“Robb-“

“If he does any of that, tell me you’ll leave. No matter what he tries to hold over you, it’s not worth it.”

_You are. You’re worth it._

“I’ll look out for myself, I swear,” Theon said. “And I’ll be seeing you around. That’s a promise too.”

“Better be.” Robb relaxed against him. “I’m not giving up. I’m not going to let you live out the rest of your life as the hostage of Ramsay Bolton.”

“God, you’re doing the full name thing too.” Theon took the elbow in the gut with good humor. “Thanks. For caring. All these years and I never really thanked you for it.”

“You didn’t need to.”

_But I should have._

* * *

Theon returned to the uptown penthouse like a condemned man to the gallows.

It really was a nice place. It was a duplex, fully furnished, and felt more like a luxury hotel than a home. He still wasn’t sure how he’d ever feel comfortable there. God, what if the place was bugged?

He sank into a leather couch in the great room, anxiously seated where he could watch the entryway. He had fired off a text message before making the drive back.

_‘Why didn’t you tell me you picked a fight with Robb?’_

He got no response to that, so he tried something else.

‘_Are you coming by tonight?’_

That got an answer: ‘_Yes_’.

He waited in the shadows as the sky grew darker and the city grew brighter all around him. Hours must have passed.

At long last he could hear the whirr and hum of the elevator. His heart rate picked up. He wondered how long it’d be before he was conditioned into anxiety just by hearing that sound.

The doors opened smoothly and Ramsay stepped out, not even glancing Theon’s way as he discarded his phone, wallet and keys on the entry table. He walked straight past him and to the home bar in the corner. Theon watched with mounting anticipation as the other man poured himself a drink.

Eventually Ramsay turned to look at him, eyes cold as he wordlessly swirled his glass.

Finally Thaon could take the silence no more.

“What?”

Ramsay continued to lazily survey him over his drink. He shrugged.

“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re a kicked dog I need to rehabilitate, or a proud horse I need to break.” Something he saw in Theon’s eyes gave him pause. He snorted. “Oh gods. It’s both, isn’t it? Of course it is.”

He placed his glass on the counter with a hollow clunk.

“The gods must be testing me. I suppose it makes sense. You’re the other half of me, after all. It’d be disappointing if it were easy. This is supposed to be the big one, the greatest project I’ll ever have. And I can savor the journey just as much as the destination…”

Ramsay seemed to be musing to himself at this point. His attention eventually drifted back to Theon properly.

“Do you want to die?”

Theon nearly choked. “What?”

“It’s a serious question. I know you’re fucked up, but are you actually suicidal Greyjoy?”

For a moment he was at a loss for words. He’d admittedly thought about it, especially when he was younger. However it was more that he’d thought about how sorry it would make everyone around him, his family especially; how he’d make them all regret not appreciating him when they had the chance. He didn’t really want to die, he just wanted to be seen. Was that so bad?

“No,” he said finally. “Not… not really.”

“Then you must not think I’m serious,” Ramsay said coldly. “You must think I’m being cute when I tell you that lives are on the line.”

“I don’t-“

“You think my father wouldn’t do it? That we’re afraid of your family, or the Starks? Do you think your father will give a fuck if you disappear, or that the Starks will be willing to go to war over you just because Robb cries at your grave for a week?” Ramsay gave a cruel laugh. “And do you think I’ll have anything to lose by slitting his fucking throat in an alley after you’re gone?”

“I…” Theon swallowed. “I came back. I just got overwhelmed, like you said. I’m sorry.”

Ramsay stared at him for a long time, eyes giving away nothing.

“Say it again.”

“I’m so-“

“No, no. I like it better when you beg on your knees. Get on the floor, and say it again.”

For a moment Theon was frozen. Indignation and defiance flared up inside him.

His rational mind told him to get over it. He needed to play Bolton’s game. With a shaky breath he slid off the couch and onto the floor, shifting his weight to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice wavering. “We had a deal and I… I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“So you say.” Ramsay crossed the room in a few languid strides.

He tangled his fingers into Theon’s hair, the other calloused hand reaching around to cup his jaw.

“Horses are prey animals, did you know that? They’re proud, but skittish - put them in an unfamiliar situation and they'll defer to you for security. Dogs are the predators, but their social urges are so strong that they have a natural need to please. Even the stray ones,” Ramsay said gently. “The thing about dogs and horses is that they’re herd creatures. They need leadership. They crave order. It just gets tricky, the later you’re able to train them.”

Ramsay thumbed at his cheek. The air seemed deathly still, a calm before a storm.

“You’re still shy of the bridle, rebel at the collar. I understand. Your needs have been terribly neglected. Feral beasts are the hardest to break, but the most rewarding.” His hands tensed. “Why don’t you tell me what you talked about with Robb Stark?”

Theon grimaced. “... You.”

“I had a feeling.”

“You bruised his ribs.”

“It’s nothing to make a fuss about. Two lads, throwing hands by a pub. Practically a national pastime,” Ramsay said flippantly. “Besides, he took the first swing. I just retaliated.”

“He says you threatened him.”

“He put his filthy mouth on my soulbond. I communicated my displeasure.”

“You know he didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t care.”

Theon sighed. He kept his eyes on the floor because that just seemed like the safest place to look. There was a strange tingling in his stomach that he didn’t want to explore or define, but the reminder that he was level with Ramsay’s hips did it no favors.

Theon’s mouth went dry. He licked his lips without thinking about it and felt the grip on his hair tighten.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Ramsay asked. “Longer than a slut like you must be used to.”

Theon didn’t reply. He didn’t really need to. It went without saying that five months was the longest he’d gone without sex since his balls first dropped. He’d been distracted enough by all the madness that it hadn’t been too unbearable, and the fear of murderous retaliation was a considerable turn off, but his frustration had been steadily mounting regardless.

It didn’t take a genius to discern that whatever open policy or undefined level of commitment Ramsay had kept with Myranda did not extend to him. The mere suggestion of having an open relationship would probably get Theon castrated. Ramsay likely expected to be his one and only sexual partner for the rest of his fucking life.

Which was. Complicated. There was a definite physical pull between them, something deep-seated and chemical that reacted in their proximity. It was a mystifying, divine sort of heat, like the halves of their soul were itching to bleed through their skin and become one again. But Theon couldn’t forego all logic and reasoning just yet.

For one, Ramsay was a fucking psychopath with kinks that could probably be classified as war crimes. For another, Theon had never been with a man and was deeply unprepared for what it would entail under even normal circumstances.

“I suppose it would be irresponsible, when gods only know where you’ve been.” Ramsay mused. “We’ll make an appointment to have you tested.”

“_Me_?” Theon spluttered, gaze shooting up from the floor. “You’re the one sticking your blade into every bitch in the North!”

Ramsay gave him an obligatory slap. “Don’t be rude. Fine, if it gives my boy some peace of mind, we’ll both go. Then there’ll be no more complaints, yes?”

Oh, that was a dangerous thing to agree to.

“We’ll uh. Still need to negotiate some things,” Theon said carefully. “Your… _interests_ may not fully align with mine.”

Ramsay’s gaze trailed elsewhere, pensive. “We’ll talk about it. I already told you; you’re not just some piece of meat that I plan to cut up and discard. I’m playing a long game here.”

It was embarrassing, maybe even wrong how those words made Theon feel. Over the past few months he’d been shamefully discovering that he didn’t hate the way Ramsay looked at him. Being wanted so intensely was a siren song after a lifetime of not being wanted at all. There was a heady rush that came with being an object of obsession, to be hunted, and the dangerous edge to it wasn’t as much of a deterrent as it should have been.

After all Balon Greyjoy was a cruel man, an objectively terrible human being. Theon had known this, and yet he had been willing to do almost anything for his approval. If his father had been willing to mix the abuse with even a scrap of affection or appreciation, Theon would have set all moral qualms aside and weathered things out in Pyke forever.

Ramsay’s fingers had begun to rub and knead at Theon’s scalp, sending pleasurable shivers down his spine. He rested his forehead against Ramsay’s thigh and heard the sharp intake of breath in response.

“Are you actively trying to be a tease or…?”

Theon shook his head, feeling the scrape of denim against his brow.

“I think. I think I’m ready to give in now.”

Ramsay's hands stilled. “Oh?”

“So long as you’re willing to negotiate about Robb. And the… the sex stuff. There’s not much else.” Theon slumped further against Ramsay’s hip. “I can take a lot, you know. I always have. When I was with my family, when I was on my own. So long as you don’t go too far, it’s… it’s fine.”

Ramsay had his number on quite a few points. Theon wasn’t an ingénue; he was an Ironborn and the youngest son to a criminal empire in his own right. Being the black sheep only meant he was more accustomed to being shoved around and left to drown.

Ramsay was more twisted than Balon Greyjoy by far, but he was also offering more than Theon’s father ever had. Maybe it was a trap, but even a gilded cage still glimmered brighter and warmer than the cruel freedom of the wild. It was a trade Theon would have been happy to make in the past. So why not now?

Even the act of being on his knees was no longer as mortifying as it had been. If he was to submit to somebody, at least it was to the scariest son of a bitch alive.

Ramsay cradled Theon’s head with both hands, pressing him further against his thigh.

“By the time we’re through, you won’t know how you ever lived without me.”

It felt like a threat as much as a promise, but Theon no longer had it in him to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gives Theon a 'you tried' star*
> 
> I hope you all had a happy Halloween. I can't believe this fic has expanded to the point that it could've been a damn NaNoWriMo novel. In any case, thanks for keeping on with it!


	5. Chapter 5

A snowstorm blew in that week.

From the penthouse Theon could watch the whole city turn white beneath the oppressively grey skies. The new place would take some more getting used to. Almost nothing in the apartment was his, save for a few scattered belongings. Maybe at some point he’d pay a visit to the storage unit Ramsay had exiled the rest of his stuff to.

He had admittedly imagined living someplace like this when he was younger: someplace shiny and expensive, because he knew his family had money and power and had always gotten drunk off that fact (because sure, for _now_ he was living off the Stark’s dime, but there was a small nation’s worth of wealth waiting for him at home, just wait!).

It had been too easy, so far away in the North, to forget the true cost of his families’ fortunes. It wasn’t until he returned home that he was forcefully reminded that indulgence was not the Iron Way and that he was entitled to nothing. He learned when his father’s backhand was striking his jaw and a gun was being pressed into his hand and everything was crashing down around him.

He learned.

It vaguely felt like he was being mocked, locked amidst this luxury in a sick pantomime of everything he always thought he wanted.

_You’re just as weak and shallow as everyone always said you were. A Northman’s kept boy. Disgraceful._

His inner voice sounded like his father’s and it made him sick.

The lobby had a ritzy little bar downstairs but Theon resisted the urge to go and drown his sorrows. Ramsay probably wouldn’t like it if he came home to find him drunk on the couch for their little ‘date night’, but maybe he’d go through with it anyway. He didn’t need Theon erect for what he was going to do, after all.

Ramsay hadn’t wasted any time with the STD testing. The day after their ‘agreement’ he had brought Theon to the Bolton’s private hospital, which was a facility so exorbitantly expensive you’d expect it to be operating with technology from the future.

Theon had gotten tested before (his drunk self was not always as safe as he should have been) but it was in standard clinics, usually for free. He’d also never been sat down and given the full panel in a single day.

Even though there was nothing objectively shameful about it, it was still a little demeaning. The nurses drew his blood, swabbed his cheek, assessed his junk, made him piss in a cup… it went on and on and he quickly began to feel like property being inspected before final purchase.

_Of course he’s going to be thorough, _Theon had thought sullenly. _He wants to go in without a condom. He wants to be the last sexual partner I’ll ever have._

And all evidence pointed to both of those things coming true.

He tried to quell his reservations. He said he was ready to give in and he’d meant it. Ramsay was an irredeemably bad man. On top of being a sadistic madman, he was also selfish, overbearing, and uncompromising.

_He was made for me._

It was a thought that he hadn’t allowed to register before. It was as if Theon had made some kind of rigged demonic pact, or cast a wish upon a cursed relic - _I just want to be wanted, to know that I’m someone’s treasure, their favourite, and that I’ll never be discarded or their second choice _\- and the gods had given him Ramsay. However despite the heavy tax being applied Theon was still getting what he’d asked for, pined for and been deprived of all his life. It felt sinfully good and he was finally ready to accept the fact.

He was not, however, quite ready to get reamed by a sadist.

In Theon’s prior experience test results took at least two weeks to come in. For the boss’ son, they came back in two days. All clean. Green light.

Theon watched the snowflakes drift down in heavy swarms, the turtleneck of his oversized sweater pulled over his nose and mouth. He wasn’t ready. Not ready to get fucked, and sure as hell not ready to be fucked by Ramsay Bolton. The man was absolutely nutters, and being the focus of that intensity seemed like a hazard in more ways than one.

But there was no going back now. Ramsay would be around sometime that evening, when his ‘work’ was done. Theon had been left to stew in his own apprehension and discomfort until then.

So he continued to hide in his sweater and watch the snow. A prince in a tower. It was almost funny.

His phone rang and he picked it up without looking.

“Yeah?”

“_Theon. There’s a problem.”_

“We’ve all got problems, Yara.”

“_Quit being a brat and listen. Things have moved forward ahead of schedule but- well, I figured short notice was better than none.”_

“What are you talking about?”

Ten minutes later Theon was scrambling through the lobby. He’d hurriedly changed into snow pants and tossed a sheepskin jacket over his shoulders before braving the cold. The harsh chill outside brought back unpleasant memories of that night in the woods.

He ignored the curious glance of the doorman and bolted for the metro station. Theon had always hated the underground even more than he hated the woods. Cramped, unclean, and you couldn’t even see the sky. Despicable.

It wasn’t until he was catching his breath aboard the tube that he realized his phone had buzzed with a new text.

_‘Where are you going?’_

He scowled. _‘Do you have your fucking spies watching me all the time, or is the apartment bugged after all?’_

_‘Answer the question.’_

_‘I’m going out for lunch. You said you’re not coming home until late. I can bring you something back if you want.’_

_‘There is food at home.’_

_‘What are you, my mother?’_

No response after that. Just for the attitude maybe Ramsay would forgo the lube tonight. Theon snorted to himself.

Whatever. As of right now, Ramsay Bolton was not actually Theon’s biggest problem.

* * *

It was about an hour by train from Winter City to White Harbor. He could feasibly make the journey, run damage control, and be back in time before Ramsay got home. He endured the anxiety, frantically checking the clock all the while.

He could do this. Theoretically.

Once he surfaced in White Harbor the texts started rolling in.

_‘What the hell are you doing? Are you on the tube?’_

_…_

_‘Are you fucking running away again?_’

Chills ran down Theon’s spine. He didn’t know how letters on a screen could manage to rattle him so, but somehow Ramsay managed.

He caught a cab to the port, struggling not to break into a cold sweat all the while. Maybe he shouldn’t have come, maybe it was a bad idea. What was he thinking? He should turn around.

Theon was about to give the order when his phone chimed again.

_‘When I get my hands on you, you’re going to wish you never even had legs to run with.’_

On second thought, maybe he’d just carry on.

With a hurricane at his back and a tsunami at his front, what else was a man to do? Theon paid the cabbie and stepped out onto the pier, bracing himself. The main port of White Harbor was a massive, bustling place, but Theon knew what to look for. The people and ships of his homeland had always been distinctive.

It was often joked on the mainland that all Ironborn dressed the same, to the point that their style was uniform-levels of recognizable on sight. Everything was dark, practical, lightweight, modest. Water-resistant. They were a utilitarian people and apparently getting your spray jacket in any colors other than black or grey was unmanly. Who knew.

(Not Theon. Not soon enough.)

He was completely unsurprised to see a flock of Ironborn milling around the seaside pub.

He got a few double-takes as he pushed past - not so much because anybody recognized him personally, but rather because of the resemblance he bore to his brothers.

Speaking of which.

Theon would know Maron’s laugh anywhere. Unfortunately he had more bad memories associated with it than good.

It was boisterous inside the bar and the Ironborns’ rowdy nature had seemingly driven out most of the other patrons. Theon moved through the haze of smoke and the tang of spilt beer. A lot of activity was centered around one table in particular, the sight of which had his stomach done up in knots.

The scene felt painfully familiar: Theon hovering awkwardly at the edge of his elder brothers’ fun, waiting to be noticed and also praying he wouldn’t be.

He was not a lucky man.

“Well look who it is!” The call was followed by a hearty clap that rattled the table and sloshed multiple drinks. “My baby brother graces us with his presence.”

Theon valiantly did not curl in on himself as Maron closed in and slung an arm forcefully over his shoulders, steering him inside the pub. The two of them probably had the strongest resemblance among their siblings, with the most even mix of Greyjoy and Harlaw features. They both possessed a set of ocean eyes neither green nor blue, though Maron’s had always seemed darker. Maron was leaner than Rodrik but still taller and more weathered than Theon. His hands were hard and his skin was rough as he hauled him over.

“What an unexpected pleasure. So generous, after we sailed all this way to clean up your mess.”

Theon struggled not to recoil or squirm at his brother’s harsh handling. “Yara told me you were here.”

“Ha! Of course she did. She’s always had the most pity for your miserable arse.” Maron shoved Theon into a chair. “Come on then, sit with your brothers. We’ve hardly seen hide nor hair of you since you went slinking back off to this frozen hell.”

Theon bit back a venomous retort. The reasons for his absence were too numerous to go over and he knew his brothers didn’t care to know them.

Rodrik looked imperiously down at him. He might have taken after Uncle Victarion in terms of build, well over six feet in height and formed like a muscled barge. Thirty five years of age, he was sporting a scar on his brow that hadn’t been there three years ago. He had dark eyes, like Yara. Like father.

“And here I thought you were scrawny before. The mainland hasn’t been kind to you.”

“I got pretty sick this month. I’m fine now.”

Rodrik snorted. “Your constitution’s always been fragile. It’s why mother was always coddling you.”

Theon twitched at the mention of their mother but refused to rise to the bait.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Rodrik’s whole body visibly tensed. The other men at the table went quiet.

“Oh?” He asked dangerously. “Is that right? I must’ve missed it when the Drowned God crowned you king. So tell me, where do you think I should be Theon?”

“I just- I know that-“

“You don’t know fuck all,” Maron cut in. “God knows we don’t want to be here. We are because when father sends us to do a job, we get it done.”

Theon bristled. “I did exactly what he told me to. I went and got his fucking land for him, even when he sold me out like a cheap whore!”

“There’s nothing cheap about any of this. You were a very _expensive_ whore, Theon, and you couldn’t even do that right.” Rodrik snorted. “You practically gave up the goods for free.”

“Yara-“

“First you went sniveling to mom, now it’s our sister. Ridiculous.” Maron rolled his eyes. “You haven’t changed. What, did the Starks not beat you enough?”

“Yara told father the Boltons’ terms,” Theon tried again. “She said it’d be fine.”

“Because she’s always been soft on you. It’s done you no favors,” Rodrik said coldly. “Now. We’re going to continue sailing north to oversee this expansion. In the process we’re going to pay that ice-blooded leech a visit and _properly_ negotiate the terms of business. As usual, you are not needed and in fact only made things harder for the rest of us.”

For a brief moment it felt like all the air had left Theon’s lungs. The words stung, of course, even though they were nothing he hadn’t heard before. He was just a stupid, hopeful idiot who needed to learn that absence would never make his brothers’ hearts fonder for him.

“You don’t know Roose Bolton,” Theon said desperately. “You’re just going to make things worse.”

Rodrik and Maron shared an exasperated look.

“Theon, we understand that you find these Northmen so very scary, but we aren’t so easily cowed.” Maron’s words were accompanied by the snickering of their crewmates.

Rodrik was staring Theon down, tongue idly digging at something between his teeth. He spat on the floor.

“Let’s see it, then.”

Theon blinked. “What?”

“You know what. It was one thing to prostrate yourself before the fucking Starks, and another to go peacocking about on magazines for money, but apparently the gods themselves created you to shame the family,” Rodrik said, words dripping with disgust. He’d never sounded more like father. “Put your grubby hands on the _fucking_ table, Theon.”

Theon swallowed, briefly squeezing his hands in his lap to wring out the tremors. Then he slowly, agonizingly did as he was told.

His soul brand shone crimson as hellfire, even more obnoxious as the only splash of color in the washed-out grunge of the bar.

“Fuck and drown me, it’s on the left hand too.” Maron shook his head in contempt, because of course sailors in all their superstition knew of that stupid nan’s tale. “Our brother, the twink. Brilliant.”

“I don’t know why father bothered giving you another chance, thinking you could actually use this to manipulate one goddamn bastard,” Rodrik said venomously. “That greenboy already has you bent over for him, hasn’t he?”

“That’s not-“

“It is. Just look at you,” Maron sneered. “Mother’s precious little boy. In the old days they’d have drowned things like you out of the cradle as a mercy. Would have certainly saved our house a lot of trouble.”

“Stop talking about mother.”

“Why, does it hurt your feelings?” Rodrik laughed cruelly. “She was weak and she raised you weak. Just alike, the two of you: fucking selfish, like you’re the only cunts out here suffering, leaving us because you can’t hack it-”

“Rodrik,” Harras warned, voice flat and detached and yet rarely failing to reel Rodrik in.

He was sat in the corner, easy to miss and staring contemplatively into his glass. He didn’t look at Theon. He never had, not even when they were kids. Always in the background, stoic and aloof and avoiding Theon’s gaze as Rodrik and Maron played their games. Theon was pretty sure he had some kind of title or rank now from his stint in the navy, but fuck if he could remember.

Rodrik made a visible effort to relax though his eyes remained cold.

“God only knows why you turned out this way. We did what we could to toughen you up, but apparently some things can’t be fixed. Now you’re going down the same path she did.”

“Mom _died_,” Theon said, knuckles going white as he gripped the edge of the table. “She was sick. She wasn’t… she wasn’t _well_, not that father was any bloody help-”

The backhand was brutal and unexpected. Rodrik had greater reach than Theon anticipated, extending clear across the table. He heard the impact before his nerves even registered pain - a loud, meaty crack that rattled his bones.

“You’re too young to even remember what mother was really like,” Rodrik snarled. “Go ahead and cry. You’re a baby and a coward, and it’s plain to see you’re on borrowed time same as her. I’ve got no more fucking patience for it.”

Theon felt nothing as he rose from his seat and left the pub, walking on autopilot from the docks. He walked until the sky began to grow dark, at which point he managed to flag a cab back to the railway station.

* * *

In truth Theon didn’t even remember the journey back. It had all become a formless blur. One moment he was in White Harbor, boarding a train, the next he was riding the elevator up to the penthouse. He walked inside in a daze, carelessly shedding his coat to the floor and discarding his keys on the side table.

He could tell from the sinister presence in his periphery that Ramsay was there, somewhere in the lounge. Theon had numbly accepted that there was probably a tracker of some sort in his phone. The other man must have known the second Theon turned around, which was probably the only reason he hadn’t been abducted off the street again.

“Cold feet?” Ramsay asked, eyes sparking in the dim light. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You…“

He trailed off, words dying in his mouth. There was a lengthy pause.

“What happened.”

Theon weakly shrugged.

“Don’t you fucking shrug at me, you untried bitch.” Ramsay’s nostrils flared. “You smell like brine and cigarettes. I want an answer.”

Theon stared out the vast window as it curved around the perimeter of the apartment.

“I saw my brothers,” his own voice sounded so far away. “They’re coming up for the expansion project, and to talk to your father. They think he’s cheating my dad.”

Seconds slowly ticked by.

“And you tried to head them off, is that it?”

The silence was its own answer.

Ramsay laughed - a light, genuine sound. “Well why didn’t you just say so? Bloody hell.”

A fire poker was lying in Ramsay’s lap. It had escaped Theon’s notice at first, but clattered loudly as Ramsay tossed it over the back of the couch and stood up.

“What was that for?”

“Never you mind. Come here.” Ramsay pulled Theon over by his hips. His expression became stone as he brushed his fingers along the swell of Theon’s cheek. “Did they do this?”

Theon hadn’t gotten a chance to look at it yet, but by the throbbing he could guess a prominent bruise was soon to blossom there.

“It’s nothing.”

“I’ll decide what’s nothing and what isn’t,” Ramsay said, voice dangerously soft as he grasped Theon’s face. “This is mine. Every part of you is _mine._ If there are marks on you and I didn’t put them there, it’s not fucking nothing.”

Something warm tentatively wriggled in Theon’s chest. It probably said something about his mental state that he found the words flattering. A healthy person wouldn’t, surely.

Ramsay took him by the arm and led him up the stairs, slow but unyielding. Theon followed as if in a dream, down the hall to be deposited on the large bed. The view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows were nearly whited out with snowfall. As the sun slipped beneath the skyline, the lights of the city began to ignite from bottom to top.

“Wait here.”

Ramsay’s warmth vanished from his side. A few moments later there was the sound of water running from the master bathroom. Filling up that massive tub, probably.

Hands reappeared on Theon’s waist, pulling him back against Ramsay’s chest.

“I don’t know why I thought they’d listen to me,” Theon said faintly. “They never have. I should be over it by now.”

_God, why can’t I get over it?_

“You should have stopped giving a fuck about what your brothers thought the day they left you in that cave.”

Theon blinked. He’d nearly forgotten that happened.

He was twelve and on a family trip to Old Wyk. He and his brothers had been diving, exploring the flooded tunnels beneath the island. Maron and Rodrik had thought it funny to leave him in one of the caverns, in the dark, for two hours. He had watched the tide slowly rise higher, shivering and wondering if they’d genuinely lost or forgotten about him.

“You saw that? In the soulshare?"

“Among other things.”

Theon laughed brokenly. “It was prank. They didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Really.”

“Rodrik and Maron are pricks but they… I know they care about me. I’m a disappointment but I’m still their brother.”

Theon crumpled inwards, his emotions beginning to wear away at the chains he’d bound them in. The throbbing in his cheek had become a more insistent ache, and belated tears were finally threatening to surface.

“I let my family down. Mom died and I ran away to the North, like they said. If I had toughed it out, things would have been different. They’d respect me more if I’d stayed, if I hadn’t spent so much time trying to be Stark.” Theon took a rattled breath. “I was selfish. I just wanted to get away. I didn’t think about what I should’ve been doing for my family.”

There was a long pause, the only sound being the muffled thunder of running water.

“I’ll be honest,” Ramsay said finally. “You are absolutely pathetic.”

Theon flinched.

“I don’t mean to be. I wanted to be just like Rodrik and Maron. I tried. I tried so hard, I just-“ His voice cracked. “It wasn’t enough.”

Theon liked to think he’d even succeeded for a while there. He’d assembled himself from stolen mannerisms and behaviors and it had come together rather well, he thought. Rodrik’s callous boldness and fearless sense of entitlement, Maron’s easy smiles and swaggering confidence… the hedonistic pursuit of liquor, drugs, and sex to prove his masculinity as well as cope with the emotions he didn’t dare express.

Armor made from mirror shards was still glass though. When push came to shove it did little to hide the scared, desperate thing underneath.

Ramsay sighed tiredly, as if he’d walked in on Theon making a mess.

“There’s a lot to unpack here but I’ll err on the side of simplicity. Your brothers are _nothing_, you understand? I care more about what the weather’s like in Dorne than the opinion of a witless homunculus, let alone two.”

Theon frowned. “This is not about you, Ramsay.”

A scoff. “If I don’t care, then _you_ shouldn’t care. The only opinion you ought to give a damn about is mine.”

“They’re on their way to see your dad. God only knows what they’ll do or say-“

“Forgive me if I’m less than concerned.”

“Well I’m not! If this deal falls through they’ll make it my fault!” Theon pulled away enough to twist around, glaring at Ramsay with wet eyes.

“The deal won’t fall through. They got their land, we accepted their payment.” His hands tightened. “No take-backs.”

“My family-“

“Your family’s power is centered on the islands, with influence along the west coast they have to fight tooth and nail to keep every year. They couldn’t do fuck all to us even if they tried.”

“Can’t do fuck all to _you_, you mean.”

Ramsay gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“You’re not the Greyjoys’ or the Starks’ anymore, you’re mine. So it’s _us_.” He ran a hand through Theon’s hair. “They really did a number on you, didn’t they? I don’t know if I should resent or thank them for making such a hack job of it.”

“What?”

“Anyone with an ounce of sense knows you don’t train a dog to be loyal by beating it. Or letting it run amuck, in the Starks’ case.” He lay Theon’s cheek upon his shoulder. “But I’m finding myself quite partial to the way you turned out. Good raw materials, is what I mean. Which might not have been so if anybody involved had actually been competent.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He ought to feel insulted but honestly it just felt good, in tatters as he was, to rest against Ramsay’s mass and inhale the scent of him.

“You just want to be good, don’t you. You want to be taken care of and disciplined like you deserve. Neither of your families did that for you, but I will. I'll take care of you.”

Something emotional was working its way up Theon’s throat and he could not be more mortified.

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” he said hoarsely. “Please don’t.”

_Please don’t make me promises. Don’t give me hope just to hurt me._

Hurting people was what Ramsay lived for. Theon would have to be certifiably mad to believe any of it, but those words were striking a chord deep within him and he was already weak from the encounter with his brothers-

“It’s alright, puppy.” Coaxing him, so gentle. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.”

Oh fuck. Ohhh fuck. There were sirens and alarms going off in Theon’s mind but he was helpless to do anything about it. The floodgates were opening and he was feeling things he thought he’d stamped down or locked away long ago, and it was quickly becoming too much.

There was no way this wasn’t a trap. But what was one more heartbreak?

Ramsay pushed his hands under Theon’s sweater, lifting it overhead and sending shivers across the exposed skin. Pale eyes gleamed as they reflected the city lights. He looked downright ethereal, like a specter come to steal Theon’s soul.

_What’s to steal? _Theon thought wryly. _It’s his._

Steady hands wiped his tears away.

“The bath is going to overflow,” Ramsay said mildly.

“I don’t want a bath.”

“Do I care what you want?” Soft words, sweetly spoken.

“… No.”

Ramsay squeezed his hand. “But I know what you need, don’t worry.”

* * *

Fortunately the bath was large enough that it probably would have taken a fair amount of time to spill over. It was square and mostly sunk into the floor, just big enough for two.

Ramsay threaded his fingers beneath Theon’s waistband.

“Wait, I-“ His remaining clothes were puddling at his ankles before a proper protest could be made.

His heart stuttered in his chest, heat rising in his face. He’d never been self-conscious about his body before (he was a _model_ for fuck’s sake), but having those ghostly eyes exploring him did awful things to his blood pressure.

“Well,” Ramsay said, head tilted slightly as he appraised Theon’s length. “I suppose that does explain a few things.”

“E-excuse me?”

Ramsay shrugged. “I thought you might have been compensating for something. Turns out you were just betting the bank on the one thing you had.”

“What do you mean the _one_ thi-“

Theon nearly toppled into the water as Ramsay herded him to the tub, the water levels rising dangerously. A sigh still escaped his chest as the heat soaked into his bones.

“It’s not bad, really,” Ramsay continued, fiddling about in the bathroom cupboards. “Although time will tell if you can be trusted with it. I meant what I said before; I’ll lock it up if I have to. That would keep you from causing trouble when I’m not using it, hm?”

“I- wha-“ Theon shrank against the side of the tub, almost cupping himself defensively. “I don’t know what that means. But I’d really rather not.”

A warm laugh. “I’m sure.”

“Are you… uh,” Theon looked pointedly at the tub.

It was hard to describe just how off-putting and vulnerable it was, being wet and exposed while the other man remained dry and fully clothed.

“Don’t you worry about me, love.” Ramsay came to settle on the side of the tub, sleeves rolled up.

“The last time I was in water around you, it didn’t go so great.”

“Well you’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?”

Easier said than done, and it wasn’t even easily said.

Ramsay didn’t seem to notice. He pet and groped at Theon’s wet skin, eyes gleaming with hunger. The disquieting chill running down Theon’s spine did not abate, but a contrasting heat was beginning to mount low in his stomach.

“I wish I could lock all of you away,” Ramsay whispered, like a secret, “Where no one would get to even look at you but me.”

The other hand curled around the base of Theon’s neck, fingers tangling in the hair of his nape. Lips pressed harshly into the growing bruise on his cheek, ignoring his hiss of pain.

“Vain thing, aren’t you? I’ve been catching up on your ‘work’, if you call it that.” Ramsay snorted lightly. “Groveling to be seen, more like. You needn’t bother. So long as you’re beautiful to me, nothing else matters.”

Theon shook his head, a gesture so small it could be mistaken for a shiver. “You’re mad.”

_I must be crazy too._

Theon had never been any good at listening to his rational mind, especially not when his body and hormones were in such vibrant opposition to it. There was a distinct buzz of electricity between their bodies when they were close to one another, something bright and physical.

“Mad by whose standard?” The fingers in his hair tightened before pulling him in.

Ramsay had kissed him a few times, chaste and brief and usually mocking. This was forceful, heated. He kissed like he wanted to _consume_, as if he could tear Theon’s soul right out with his teeth and swallow it down to make himself whole.

Greedy touches explored Theon’s body - down his back, across his thighs, his ass, over his belly, ribs, and chest - as if the other man was too excited to settle on any one place. Ramsay bit and licked at Theon’s lips, turning him to butter under his attentions.

Theon had always been the ‘active’ partner in his couplings. He might have bed a couple of wild ones in the past, but never in his long and varied sex life had he felt so much like a meal. He had no choice but to receive, to accept what he was given. It was shameful and intoxicating, to be the prey for once.

Ramsay’s groping hands lathered Theon’s skin with unscented soap, slick and warm. Theon nearly bucked right out of the water when they slipped between his legs. It’d been so long, fucking _months_ since anyone touched him.

He grasped desperately at the tub’s edge as Ramsay’s finger rubbed insistently at his entrance.

“Oh god,” he gasped. “I- I’ve never-“

“Ssh.” Ramsay’s eyes flashed. “I know.”

Theon groaned embarrassingly loud as that hand wrapped around his length.

“This is not for you,” Ramsay breathed into his ear. “You’re all pent up, sweetling. When I take you I want it to last.”

Theon nodded frantically, babbling nonsense because he didn’t care. He’d agree to just about anything if it meant Ramsay would keep going.

“I can hardly believe this fucking thing,” Ramsay hissed, stroking him roughly. “It’s almost comical. No wonder you’re such an animal. With all the blood it must take to get you hard, there’s nothing left for that damn brain of yours.”

Theon was too far gone to be offended. Yes yes, say whatever you want sir, just let me get off.

He would never have imagined getting this worked up over a handjob of all things, but he might as well have been getting jerked off by God himself for how high it was taking him.

“Panting like a bitch in heat,” Ramsay hissed, squeezing him and eliciting a harsh gasp. “Gonna come for me, rutting in my hand like a beast?”

“Yes, _gods_ yes-“

“Not without permission, you won’t,” Ramsay grabbed Theon’s balls in warning. “Come on, beg me for it.”

A strangled noise wrung from Theon’s throat. “Please, okay, I need it-“

“You need _me_.” Ramsay corrected.

“You, I need you, I can’t take it anymore-“ The time for dignity had long since passed, his hands throttling the tub’s edge. “I’ll do whatever you want, just let me finish I’m begging you-“

The grin that spread across Ramsay’s face was downright evil. His gaze trailed elsewhere, like it was something he needed to think about.

“Hm… well… alright, I suppose.”

The brutal pace resumed and a scant few strokes later it was over - Theon came so hard his vision actually blacked out, head pounding in time with his heartbeat. He was sure he screamed but was hardly present enough to know. The room was swimming around him, rocking like a moored ship.

His body went limp in the water, head lolling back against the lip of the tub. Before he could even discern which way was up, Ramsay’s lips were possessively capturing his own. Theon was too wrung to fully respond, but he hummed contentedly against his bondmate’s mouth.

“Thank you,” he mumbled mindlessly, still failing to collect himself. “Thank you thank you-“

“Ssh. We’re not done, remember?” Ramsay pulled the stopped from the tub and proceeded to manhandle Theon to his feet for a perfunctory towel dry.

Theon’s whole body felt like jelly, but it wouldn’t have surprised him if Ramsay could have carried him over his shoulder if he had to. He was dropped unceremoniously onto the bed, the foam mattress barely jostling. The snowstorm continued to rage beyond the windows, wind whistling and howling against the side of the tower, but inside it was warm.

Theon was still blissed out from his orgasm, the first sexual contact he’d had in nearly half a year gods help him, and had gone completely pliant under Ramsay’s ministrations.

He watched in detachment as a still-clothed Ramsay kneeled between Theon’s naked legs. There was the sound of a cap being opened and his heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t you close your eyes. No hiding from me, Greyjoy.”

“Apparently not,” Theon said, watching wide-eyed as lube glistened on Ramsay’s fingers. “Not when you’ve got spies and trackers on me at all times.”

Ramsay raised a brow at him.

“Supposing that I knew what you were talking about - and I don’t - I’d expect you to be honoured that I care so much for your comings and goings. Gods know nobody else does.”

Theon winced. Low blow, right in a place that was already sore this evening.

“Oh don’t be wounded, pet. You know it’s only because I’m so fond of you.”

Theon wanted to ask why, when he’d only ever been a pain and an inconvenience his whole damn life, but his voice was lost once there were large hands grabbing his arse and spreading him open. Slick fingers circled his entrance and though his body was still loose and sated, his mouth went dry at the contact.

“We’re a bit past the point for flatter-ah!”

Being breached was a strange, uncomfortable feeling. Not truly painful (yet) but foreign. His stomach jumped at the sensation of a calloused finger experimentally prodding and stroking his insides. Lubricant thankfully eased the way, gradually opening Theon’s body to further intrusion with a mild burn.

“Gods, you’re tight.” Ramsay murmured. “I’ve never laid with a man either, you know. Not sure I’d ever even thought about it, before you. Tensions can run high of course, when I’m working, but… that’s nothing personal. Meat is just meat.”

His fingers probed deeper, finally pressing against something that stole Theon’s air and made his cock twitch in interest.

“I’ve been waiting for this. Ever since the night we met, when I learned what you are. That you were made for me,” Ramsay said heatedly, fingers wriggling and touching that spot in fascination. “The looks on people’s faces when they see my mark! It still hasn’t gone stale. One in a million odds and the Bolton boy has a soulmate. _Ha_.”

Theon was pretty sure ‘boy’ was not the word people used, but there was probably no more dangerous a time to point out that fact. As if on cue, another finger slipped in and any retort he might have had died in his throat.

“And it was you, of all people. A little old-money princeling from the islands, the Starks’ tragic pet project. Who would have seen that coming? It’s like fucking poetry.”

Ramsay had begun to work his trousers down to his hips. He pulled out his cock and Theon’s blood ran cold. Ramsay wasn’t as big as he was, which was fair, but he was still more than Theon could imagine taking.

“I had never put much stock in fate you know,” Ramsay said breathily, eyes almost wild. “Thought it was just something spoiled, soft-handed cunts used to justify being given everything they had. But no.”

He extracted his fingers and aligned himself with Theon’s entrance.

“This is too perfect to be anything else.”

Theon was not prepared when Ramsay slid inside; he moaned loudly in what was at once surprise, pain and the raw depth of sensation. Ramsay was greater in girth and length than his fingers for a start, but there was also an unexpected warmth; Theon could feel the stiff heat of him throbbing inside his body. His nerves were all firing at once, sending stars careening across his vision.

Theon distantly realized that this was the closest they’d ever get to being one, to their split halves mingling at the seam until it was no longer clear where one ended and the other began. It left his whole body lighting up with chemical high.

Ramsay bottomed out with a deep groan, seemingly needing a moment of his own to process the feeling. His hands ardently roamed across Theon’s skin, still dewy from his bath. He cruelly pinched an erect nipple and they both gasped when it caused Theon to tighten around him.

Theon was panting, could tell his pupils had expanded to the size of olives. He’d been fondled and felt up before, but nothing in his vast library of encounters came close to the feeling of being utterly played with, as if his body were an exciting new toy. It was also impossible to deny that all of these attentions had revived his erection, which was now propped eagerly against the planes of his stomach.

“Gods,” Ramsay adjusted his hips, causing his cock to rub maddeningly against Theon’s inner walls. “I can feel how hungry you are, squeezing me like that.”

He tangled their hands together, the ones that bore their marks, and pinned Theon’s to the mattress over his head. The other hand formed an iron hold on his hip.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Ramsay said, matter-of-fact.

Theon squirmed uneasily. “Are you not going to take your clothes off?”

“Maybe later.”

Ramsay rocked into him slowly at first, testing the waters. Theon hissed with each nudge to his prostate, each twinge of pain as his body adjusted to the shape piercing him. The experience of being taken carried more intimacy than Theon knew what to do with. The lack of condom was also undoubtedly a factor, with the sweet slide of skin on skin leaving him dizzy.

Soon the little rocking motions became a confident roll of the hips, which in turn graduated to proper thrusts as Ramsay found his rhythm. There would be bruises on Theon’s hip for sure.

His breaths were coming in soft, shallow gasps, body rocking with each grind of Ramsay’s form against his. The pace quickly grew insistent and merciless, driving repeatedly into his prostate and making Theon’s toes curl with unexpected pleasure.

“You like that?” Ramsay asked, lighting sparks in Theon’s eyes with a particularly pointed thrust. “You’re leaking all over yourself. Filthy boy.”

“Hngh," Theon was far past coherent words.

His cock pressed stiff and neglected on his abdomen and Theon didn’t even care. He might have been drooling, saliva mixing with blood as his teeth worried through his bottom lip. Ramsay’s mouth hungrily covered his, tasting the iron on his tongue. He shifted position to lay upon him, boxing Theon in with his heat and weight.

When they surfaced for air it was with their foreheads pressed together, skin damp with sweat. Winter storm eyes met deep sea teal, and time stood still. Something undefinable seized Theon’s chest, an unholy mixture of panic, lust and sentiment.

In that moment he swore he knew what it felt like to be the center of someone’s whole world.

The thought combined with the unyielding rhythm to bring him straight over the edge, his back arching off the bed. In hindsight Theon would swear they came at the same time: he spilling across his own chest just as he felt Ramsay’s cock twitch and release its seed inside him.

Lights, chemicals and sensations erupted in Theon’s brain. It felt like dying, like drowning, like taking flight. There were teeth in Theon’s neck, feral and intractable and breaking the pale skin. Pain and pleasure became one as the waves of electricity rippled through their flesh.

Theon gave a shudder as Ramsay extracted his teeth from his neck, a thin rivulet of blood trickling into the sheets. For a moment they stayed like that, slotted together in a breathless, sweaty heap.

Theon swallowed, struggling to catch his breath.

“That… that was…”

_The best orgasm I’ve ever had._

“Mm.” Ramsay shamelessly inhaled the scent of Theon’s skin as he lay kisses over the bloody bite mark.

Eventually Theon was able to persuade him with insistent nudges to roll over, soft cock slipping out of his used hole. Without the high of sex the soreness was catching up fast.

For the moment they lay side by side, winded and reeling. Neither of them really had words. Maybe the words didn’t exist. It had been Theon’s first time with a man, his first time having sex in months even, and he’d just come so hard he might’ve glimpsed off-spectrum colors like a damn mantis shrimp. Was it a soulbond thing? Was that normal?

“I’d say that was worth the wait,” Ramsay said breathily, absently tracing the bite mark now throbbing on Theon’s neck.

“Hn. Could’ve used a warning, you vampire.” He was too tired to be properly upset. “Did you have to?”

Ramsay looked at him blearily. “You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

“I didn’t. I mean, not really. But… for next time. You’re going to… need more, right?”

_You’ll need to hurt me._

“Hm. I have plans, yes.” Ramsay yawned. “In a while. You ever hear of the sorites paradox?”

“No.”

“Boiling frog syndrome, then.”

“You’ve just made that up.”

Ramsay swatted his thigh. “Sometimes I worry that you’re genuinely an idiot.”

“Not everyone got a degree in mind-fucking people, Bolton.”

“Fine. It means that certain… transitions are best done fluidly. To the point where you couldn’t say exactly where the turning point was.”

“Like how I went from busting your face in a bar to taking your cock in this bloody apartment?”

Ramsay’s brow ticked slightly. “Yes, a lot like that.”

“So you’re saying that by this time five months from now, you’ll have me strapped to a post counting strikes.” Theon scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

“Whatever you say, love.” Ramsay pulled him closer. “You’re good for now. Better than I ever thought vanilla could be, for certain. Though I admit I got myself a bit revved up beforehand - I was thinking of you all day.”

“You were thinking of me,” Theon echoed. “While you were torturing men for your father, you were thinking of me?”

“Mmhm.” Ramsay finally shed his shirt and carelessly discarded it to the floor.

“… In what capacity, exactly-“

“Go to bed, Theon.”

He was filthy and used and aching all over, but honestly couldn’t imagine making the stumble to the shower. So Theon let Ramsay tuck him against his side, his eyes drifting shut as he watched the snowstorm continue to churn outside.

* * *

Theon did eventually hobble into the bathroom for a wash, feeling thoroughly defiled. He could hear Ramsay moving about the apartment as he struggled to get himself clean, his entrance sore and tender from the previous night’s abuse. He rinsed away the crusted blood on his neck, fingers prodding at the indentations made by Ramsay’s canines.

Once he was in front of the mirror he saw that the bite had become a raised crimson and purple ring, unmistakable in what it was. He’d have to hunt about for a scarf to cover the damn thing. The mark on his face in contrast had felt worse than it looked. It was a bruise to be sure, but more red than purple and would hopefully be gone in a week’s time.

“There you are,” Ramsay strolled into the bathroom like it was his right, and maybe it was.

Theon’s stomach dropped at the sight of the long, thin piece of wood in his hands. He’d misbehaved enough in school to know a cane when he saw one.

“Rams-“

“We had an arrangement, pet. When I contact you, you respond. Not only did you break your word, but you actually _lied_ to me about where you’d gone,” Ramsay said, venomously sweet. “You know how dangerous that is, don’t you? How am I to keep you safe when I don’t know where you are?”

“I’m sorry,” Theon blurted, ever so slightly shrinking away from the man. “I only wanted to deal with my brothers, I thought if I could reason with them-“

“I know what you thought. You wanted to go behind my back and make the problem disappear so that I’d never even know they were here. Is that right?”

Theon grimaced. “You don’t know my brothers. I don’t _want_ you to know them.”

“Be that as it may, you should know better than to try and keep secrets from me.” Ramsay’s eyes hardened. “Give me your hand, Theon.”

Theon froze under that expectant gaze. He knew that protesting was futile and walking out would only make more problems.

“H-how many?”

“Let’s say… one for every message of mine you ignored. How many was that?”

“Uh. Five?”

Ramsay beckoned for a hand. Theon initially reached out with his left, only to be stopped.

“Oh no. I like that one. Right side, if you please.”

“That’s my dominant hand. I need it.”

“You should have put it to use when I messaged you. _Now_, Theon.”

Theon sighed heavily before shakily extending his right hand, palm side up.

“Good boy.”

The first blow of the cane on the fleshy base of his palm overrode his yelp of pain, a deafening crack in the acoustics of the bathroom. Theon grit his teeth for the next two only to let out a hiss of pain for the fourth; each strike was expertly dealt, coming down sharp as a blade in perfectly stacked lines. The fifth was a stripe of fire on his palm, finally wringing a whimper of pain from his throat. That one had nearly broken skin, little pinpricks of blood welling to the surface.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Theon looked morosely up at him in response, the welts on his hand pulsing.

“Wipe that look off your face. You brought it on yourself,” Ramsay said, setting the cane aside.

He reached into one of a drawer for one of the face towels, running it under the warm water with a single pump of soap.

“Put this in your mouth.”

Theon’s eyes stared uncomprehendingly. “You’re not serious.”

Ramsay’s hand lashed out like a viper, locking around Theon’s throat. Cruel fingers dug into the swollen wound on his neck.

“Listen closely you whinging, insolent manchild,” Ramsay growled. “You. Do. Not. _Lie _to me. Ever. You’re lucky I’m being so understanding. If you’d actually been doing what I thought you were, we’d be waking up to a very different morning.”

Theon’s mind flickered back to the iron poker that was probably still lying discarded behind the couch downstairs. He wondered if Ramsay would have still wanted to fuck him after… whatever it was he’d planned on doing with that thing.

“So open your cocksucking mouth, Greyjoy. I won’t ask again.”

Theon’s stomach squirmed as he reluctantly parted his lips. The soapy washcloth was forced into his mouth, flooding it with foam.

“There,” Ramsay said, tone instantly brightening. “You stay just like that while I go make a phone call, alright?”

Theon made a muffled noise of protest but the other man was already turning heel and gone. He hovered there by the sink, heat rising in his face. He didn’t need the mirror to know he’d gone red all the way down to his neck, and in fact preferred to look anywhere but at his own reflection.

The soap was an overwhelmingly bitter taste on his tongue, but gagging only squeezed more suds into his mouth. The reflexive urge to swallow was causing muscles in his throat to convulse and it was an effort just to control his breathing. On top of it all his hand still throbbed, further reminder that he was being punished like a literal schoolboy for speaking out of turn.

It was beyond degrading, but what choice did he have?

He waited through each agonizing minute. He could hear the sound of Ramsay’s voice carry from downstairs, but not enough to make out any words. Fortunately the man didn’t seem to be much of a conversationalist on the phone. The returning footsteps were a godsend, approaching just as Theon began to choke on the rag from soap finally hitting the back of his throat.

“Go on then.” Ramsay tugged the towel from between his teeth. “Spit.”

Theon didn’t need to be told twice, doubling over the sink to hack the foam down the drain.

“I hope you learned something,” Ramsay said offhandedly. “The next lesson won’t be so tame.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Theon wheezed, eyes tearing as he tried in vain to wash the taste from his tongue.

Ramsay tsked as he took Theon’s hand, examining the perfect welts there with glittering eyes. He pressed a tender kiss to the knuckles, his fingers skimming lightly over inflamed flesh.

“I forgive you.”

* * *

It took another two days for Theon’s brothers to make port off of Widow’s Watch.

Once Ramsay communicated the news to his father, Roose Bolton’s response had been to invite Rodrik and Maron to his home for dinner and business negotiations. Theon was unfortunately expected to attend. He was pretty sure he would have had nightmares about this exact scenario, had he ever been creative enough to conceive of it.

Though he hadn’t been involved in the conversations, he knew his brothers would likely moan and snark about having to travel inland. The Bolton estate was surrounded by forests with mountains at its back. It was connected to the city by a winding road through the wooded hills and to the sea by a frigid river, but while picturesque it was not conveniently located by any means.

“They’ll spend the night of course,” Ramsay said passively as his adjusted his cufflinks. “If they want.”

“They won’t want,” Theon said immediately. “_I_ don’t want.”

He pressed his forehead against the back of Ramsay’s neck and felt inexplicably calmed. Ever since their ‘first night’ together, they’d scarcely been able to keep their hands to themselves. It was like every touch provided a fresh shot of positive chemicals to Theon’s brain.

“Quit fussing,” Ramsay said, even as he leaned into the touch. “I’m sure it’ll be a lovely evening.”

Famous last words if Theon had ever heard them.

It was past nightfall when his brothers arrived.

A car had picked Rodrik and Maron up at the docks and escorted them to the property but they still somehow managed to be almost forty minutes late. As expected they were both completely unapologetic, as well as dressed in the jeans and coats they probably wore off their boat.

“I don’t know how you stand this ghastly fucking place,” Maron grunted, tossing his jacket at the butler. “Who talks business on a fucking mountain?”

“Mainlanders always have to put on such a bloody show,” Rodrik said, tracking snow and mud into the entrance hall. “Are we supposed to be impressed? We’re here to enforce our terms, not have tea in the parlor.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Maron nodded at the butler. “Oy Jeeves, I don’t suppose there’s someplace to take a leak in his majesty’s castle?”

The long-suffering man led him away with a vacant look on his face and oh, someone was going to be spitting in Maron’s food before the night was out.

In the meanwhile Rodrik was taking in his surroundings with unveiled disdain, huffing derisively at Theon’s pressed shirt and shined shoes. When his eyes caught sight of the mark peeking out from Theon’s collar he did a double-take.

“The ever-loving _fuck _is that?” Rodrik didn’t wait for a response before grabbing Theon’s chin and twisting his head to the side for a better look. “Drowned hell.”

“It’s nothing!"

“Don’t you bullshit me!” Rodrik was pawing at Theon’s collar, his sleeves, clearly searching him over. “Has that Northern bastard been making you his bitch, little brother? Is that right?”

“Stop it!“

Shoving Rodrik was like shoving a brick wall. He caught Theon’s wrist and froze at the sight of the thin, dark welts marring his palm.

“Rodrik-“

His grip on Theon’s wrist turned painful, his eyes as black as pitch. Theon had never seen that look in his brother’s eyes before.

“Rodrik, come on!” Maron was calling them from down the hall. “I want to at least fucking eat something before these greenlanders try to rob us.”

Theon gave his eldest brother a pleading look. “Can we just get through this dinner please?”

Rodrik said nothing, dark clouds still churning in his gaze. Finally he released Theon’s wrist with a snarl, shoving past him to join Maron by the dining room. Theon followed hesitantly behind, still struggling to gauge what level of disaster they had already hit for the evening.

When he sidled into the dining room everyone was already about to seat themselves.

Ramsay and his father had taken the time to converse a bit before dinner, probably on the best way to address the ‘Greyjoy problem’. He took Theon’s elbow and led him to the seat beside his, Rodrik’s sharp gaze following them all the while.

Theon had sat through a good share of awkward family dinners in his life but he felt confident in saying that this one would never be topped. The only way it could get worse is if some Starks had shown up too.

Maron was either absolutely oblivious to the tension or just didn’t care, and both were equally plausible as he fixed his attentions wholly on the food being placed before them. Walda was seemingly doing her best to engage in smalltalk, making note of the cooling weather and how impressive it was to sail about the whole continent.

“Had to get the ships here somehow,” Rodrik said shortly, not even looking at her. He was still glaring at Theon, breaking eye contact only to throw the occasional poisonous look Ramsay’s way.

“How exciting. Have you ever been at sea, Theon?”

Maron laughed into his plate. “Theon couldn’t captain a ship even if it ran on paddles.”

“I’ve sailed before,” Theon said sullenly.

“Theon doesn’t go out to sea.” Rodrik might have been carved from stone, the lines of his face stern and hard. “He stays in the North. He hasn’t come home in years.”

Uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Theon scowled at his food. He just had to survive one night. One way or another his brothers would be gone before the week was out.

“So,” Roose Bolton said, sounding somewhere between bored and abstractly entertained, “I understand your father is having second thoughts about our arrangement.”

“He had his first thoughts too,” Rodrik said, his food untouched. “He still hoped that Theon’s… connection to your house would barter us a fair deal. He was mistaken.”

“I see,” Dr. Bolton said, sounding both unsurprised and unconcerned. “That’s unfortunate. As I feel I was quite generous in my terms, I am rather unwilling to yield on them.”

“Then we have a problem.”

“I’m afraid your father is overestimating his leverage,” Dr. Bolton said dryly. “He has given me no cause to renegotiate.”

Rodrik shrugged. “Fine. Then we’ll just take Theon and be on our way.”

Theon’s gaze shot up. “Huh?”

“I don’t quite follow,” Ramsay’s tone was blatantly fake politeness, his eyes glacial. Theon glanced under the table to see his hands forming white-knuckled fists in his lap.

“Don’t be coy. Theon was part of the deal. I know your old man doesn’t care about your _soulbond_,” Rodrik said, spitting the word in disgust. “He cares that my brother is your family’s ideal bartering chip against us and the Starks both. Theon’s addition to your house is worth the markup you’re charging us and then some.”

Theon blinked. He cast a baffled look at Maron, who seemed as blindsided by this information as he was.

“So no, I don’t believe my family _overestimates its leverage_, Dr. Bolton. It’s you who seems to think we aren’t bred with any sense in the islands. I assure you that we are not all so dense as Theon.” Rodrik folded his arms across his chest. “Honestly I’m currently inclined to cut our losses and take him home. My brother is weak and always has been, but even if the Starks enabled him at least they were too soft to exploit him for it.”

No one was eating anymore, not even Maron. A distinct chill had settled over the room. Dr. Bolton sipped his wine pensively.

Rodrik looked back at Theon, something heavy in his gaze. “Frankly I don’t trust you with him. Theon’s the baby of the family, and everyone knows your bastard doesn’t sail with an even keel.”

Ramsay noticeably tensed but Roose’s voice was cool as ever.

“My son and I have already had the discussion. Your brother is to be treated with the high standard of care applied to all our assets. I assure you that we have both the motivation and means to keep him safe.”

Rodrik looked at Ramsay with a sneer. “Is that right?”

“Rodrik come on,” Maron muttered, giving him a nudge. “We’re here for the job. Dad just wants his cut, he doesn’t want Theon to come back.”

“Dad doesn’t know everything.”

Rodrik must have really looked up to their father to think the man would care about anything Ramsay did to his youngest son. Balon Greyjoy’s pedestal remained unbroken in his eyes and Theon wondered if he felt envy or pity at the fact.

Dr. Bolton shrugged. “I can look at the numbers again. The tax we’ll apply to your products may be reassessed, but I’m afraid that the exclusivity of your distribution is non-negotiable. We have enabled your operation in our region, and we shall control the flow of your product throughout it.”

Maron looked at Rodrik expectantly, silently urging him to pick up the deal. Rodrik was unmoved.

“We’ll see.”

* * *

After dinner Dr. Bolton stepped into his office on the pretense of making some phone calls. He left with a seemingly weighted look at Ramsay, who immediately suggested showing Theon’s brothers about the property. Maron was utterly unenthused but Rodrik seemed just as keen to get the Bolton bastard alone.

Theon didn’t waste time pulling Ramsay aside in one of the alcoves.

“Why can’t you just stay here?” He pleaded under his breath as Ramsay nonchalantly did up his coat. “I know some of the things they said at dinner were a bit… but they were just trying to get a rise out of everyone. They’re just-“

“Don’t stress yourself, pet.” Ramsay pinched his cheek painfully close to the bruise. “They came here for business. I’m just showing them some of what happens on our end of things. Knowing my father he’s going to keep them waiting for ages anyway.”

“I don’t want you to be alone with them. They’re going to pick a fight.”

“Are you worried about me?” He grinned like it was a joke. “That’s too cute.”

“It’s not funny. My brothers are beasts. Rodrik’s got six inches and fifty pounds on you at least.”

“Nice of you to warn me. Now why don’t you run along - go down to the kennels or something and play with the dogs.”

“‘Play with the dogs’?” Theon scoffed. “I’m not a fucking child, Ramsay.”

“What, you don’t like dogs?” Ramsay asked in false affront. “I heard the Starks kept hounds. Didn’t you ever want one of your own?”

“I’m actually more of a cat person.”

Ramsay made a face that straddled the line between exasperation and genuine disgust.

“Figures.”

“What, you’re telling me the Beastmaster himself can’t train a cat?”

“Why would I? Cats aren’t good for anything.”

“They’re good for plenty. They keep vermin down on ships. Meant to be good luck too.” Theon shrugged. “You can’t walk a block in Harlaw without tripping over one.”

The Ironborn of old had been more inclined to reduce their forests to ship lumber than go hunting in them, leaving dogs historically with no strong role on the islands. Cats on the other hand were literally everywhere.

Ramsay rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just go entertain yourself for a bit, will you?”

He helplessly watched as Ramsay led his brothers down a passage he’d never been through before, all fake smiles and overly pleasant words. He couldn’t help but feel sick.

Despite Dr. Bolton’s claims of going into his office for business reasons, he was doing nothing but sipping scotch and staring out the window when Theon poked in.

“Ah, excuse me sir. I know you’re… busy, but I just wanted to apologize. About my brothers. I know they were rude.”

“It was no less than what I expected.” Dr. Bolton said. “There was an unexpected display of intuition, however.”

“So it’s true then.” Theon gently closed the door behind him. “You want to use me against my family and the Starks.”

“That’s a rather dramatic way of putting it. It’s a mere matter of leverage,” Dr. Bolton said. “Your brothers’ reservations are of little concern to me. It is not they I do business with but your father, and we both know where he stands on the issue.”

“You talk like I’m a hostage,” Theon said. “What leverage can I be if you know my father doesn’t care?”

“Your father will not live forever, nor will Ned Stark. Your siblings and Robb Stark are the ones you have made invested in your welfare,” Dr. Bolton gave a light shrug, like it was all beyond his understanding. “We may fuss about on the exact numbers but the fact remains that once this contract is sealed, your family will never risk betraying us or forgoing payment. Not so long as you belong to my son.”

Theon felt cold inside as Dr. Bolton fixed him with a piercing stare.

“Welcome to the family, Mr. Greyjoy.”

* * *

Theon waited in the entrance hall, sat near the base of the stairwell and occasionally waving off concerned servants. Though the staff seemed to be the type of consummate professionals who would stare unblinking in the face of the apocalypse, Theon had always got the sense that didn’t know quite what to make of him: the mad boy who’d stumbled out of the woods half-dead and bearing Ramsay Bolton’s soul mark. After beholding his brothers, the staff seemed to have fully reconciled him. As if everything about Theon suddenly made sense.

Through the front windows he could see the headlights of a car pulling up. Apparently Rodrik and Maron were not expected to stay the night after all.

“Ramsay must have called the driver,” Walda said, appearing at the foot of the stair with a mug of cocoa. She pressed it into his hands. “Here. I noticed you didn’t have much at dinner.”

“Thank you.” He held it close, enjoying the warmth and the smell but not quite having the motivation to drink it. “Have my brothers already met with Dr. Bolton?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

That probably didn’t bode well. The last thing he needed was Ramsay and his brothers to be having a go at each other where no one could see. He could only hope his soulbond didn’t do something crazy and further shadow Theon’s standing with his house.

“… I have siblings too, actually,” Walda said mildly.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yes, quite a few. Many of whom I haven’t spoken to since I married.” She lightly patted his shoulder. “It gets easier, honey.”

Easier. That had never been his experience.

“You’re not from the North, are you?” He asked.

“I’m afraid not. I was born and raised quite close to the border, but it’s a far cry from what things are like here. I mean, this is the genuine deep North, isn’t it?” She laughed somewhat disbelievingly.

“Mountains, forests, fuckton of ice and snow. I’d say so.” He paused. “Are you happy here?”

“I am. Aren’t you?”

The question shouldn’t have taken him by surprise. Most would say that Theon Greyjoy was happy, rarely seen without a grin on his face. He didn’t have much reason not to be, objectively.

However the recent months of sexual deprivation and dubious mental health had further revealed to him just how heavily he’d relied on certain coping mechanisms. At some point Theon had fallen for his own illusion, but the introduction of Ramsay Bolton into his life had thoroughly kicked the door down on him.

“… I’m not sure.”

She gave him a knowing look.

“It’s alright if you’re not. Or if you are, even when you feel like you shouldn’t be. If you’re happier here than in the islands, I certainly won’t fault you for it.” Walda shrugged. “Home is what we make of it, and the people we make it with.”

The words swirled about in Theon’s brain a while after she left. It sounded like something his therapist would have told him as a teenager, bitter and pining for a family that didn’t want him whilst hating himself for liking the Starks as much as he did. It felt like no matter what he did he was betraying somebody, letting someone down. He was always having to contort himself to fit into the spaces he was provided and made to feel grateful for it.

Ramsay had expectations too, with his own price for disappointment. Yet there was something gratifying about the discipline: Theon being punished for how much of a fuckup he was, interspersed with security and endearment. Though he didn’t find pain sexually engaging like Ramsay did, it could be cathartic. It wasn’t so bad, living under the power and surrendering to the hold of someone more solid than himself.

Could it be home though? He’d already made the decision to give in, but giving himself permission to be happy was another matter entirely.

Theon was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of hurried footsteps powering down the hall. He looked up in time to see Maron cutting through the foyer.

“Maron?”

The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud. He’d left his jacket behind in the coat closet.

Theon looked around, stunned. A beat later Rodrik was also passing through the entrance hall, hurried but more steady, face flushed red.

“Rodrik, what the hell is going on?”

Rodrik halted at the threshold. He turned to look at Theon, eyes aflame and expression downright unreadable. For a moment it seemed like he had something to say, but the moment passed. He wordlessly pulled open the front door and was gone.

Theon numbly watched as the headlights rolled across the windows and vanished from the drive. He didn’t move until he felt strong arms wrap around him from behind, bringing the faint smell of soap and disinfectant.

“Well,” Ramsay breathed into his neck. “They were in a hurry.”

* * *

“I can never go home again.”

Theon was huddled on a chaise, watching the placid rippling of the indoor pool. The only source of light in the room, the water cast ripples of blue across the arched ceiling. It was plain to see that the whole building was brand new and gently used. Lovely, as bait tended to be.

“That miserable rock was never home to you,” Ramsay said, leaned casually against one of the cobblestone pillars. “Your home is wherever I am.”

Theon closed his eyes, inhaling the light smell of the water. It was a salt water pool, so the scent was fainter than he was used to. Less chemicals than the rec center, for certain.

He couldn’t say Ramsay was wrong. Theon clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

“What did you do to my brothers?”

Ramsay shrugged without looking up. He was palming an apple in one hand, a blade in the other.

“Nothing really. I just showed them some of the projects we’ve got down in the lab.”

“Lab?”

“It’s what we call that square stone building on the edge of the property. It’s not much, nothing like what we’ve got at the tower. Just something we occasionally use to test new equipment in.”

“You made them watch you test medical equipment?”

Ramsay sheared a long ribbon of skin from his apple. “Uh huh.”

“Tested on what?”

“Just some meat we had laying around. It was going to expire soon anyway.”

Dread slowly crawled up Theon’s spine.

“I don’t think they found it very entertaining. At least I assume that’s why the younger one started crying.”

“My siblings don’t cry.” No one in his family did, except him.

Ramsay gave him a skeptical look. “Father already gave gave me a lecture. Or pretended to; he wanted them out of the house almost as much as I did.”

“If my dad finds out you threatened Rodrik and Maron, he won’t take it lightly. You can’t just-“

“I can’t?” Ramsay asked pointedly. “They threatened _me. _They were going to take what’s mine as if it were their right. I should have sent your father’s precious boys back to him in a fucking _box_.”

“He’d have gone to war.”

“He’d have lost.” Ramsay smoothly cut into his apple. “Your daddy may rule the seas but the second he sets foot on the mainland, he’s nothing.”

“He’ll brand me a traitor. For choosing you after over my brothers, I-“ Theon stared into the water through the gaps of his fingers. “… I’m never going to reconcile with my father.”

The statement was more for his own benefit. He needed to say it, to hear the truth in his own words.

He looked up to see Ramsay watching him with interest.

“Can you… I don’t know, come over here maybe?”

Ramsay walked over after a moment’s pause, shoes making the barest of sounds on the marble tile. He sat beside him on the chaise, just close enough that their thighs brushed together. There was a little electric jolt with the touch, and Theon was done trying to parse what was chemical, what was psychological and what was the magic of the bond.

If Theon allowed himself to, he didn’t find it that hard to understand Ramsay. The sadism was beyond him of course, but the other part, the _human_ part… the parts he’d seen in the soul share. That wasn’t so elusive.

Ramsay wanted to own and possess because all his life he’d been told that everything he was and had came from his father’s mercy. He saw the world in terms of nature and survival, predators and prey, instinct and hunger. He needed to be in control because powerlessness and insignificance were his greatest fears. He wanted to be important. He wanted to be feared and he wanted to be loved.

“We make one hell of a pair,” Theon said with a sigh. “We’re both fucked up and crazy.”

“You care too much about that. If we’re happy and living the way we want, what does it matter? Their standards don’t have to apply to us.”

Spoken like a true psychopath. Still, there was something liberating about it.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been happy.” Theon admitted. “I was a good faker.”

“Not to me. I couldn’t wait to rip that stupid mask off your face. You’re still clinging to the damn thing. Aren’t you sick of it?”

“Ask me again later.”

He could taste apples on Ramsay’s lips as he pressed their mouths together, blood singing in their veins. It tasted like sin and sweet poison.

Perhaps in the end, deep down underneath… Theon was just not that good a person after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I just started a new job and my schedule got thrown. Fics will continue but not at the rate I was doing before (~10k per week jfc). Thanks for the patience!  
The next chapter will be the last, and take place after a little time skip.


	6. Chapter 6

Summertime in the North was a bit of a joke by rest of the world’s standards.

There were really only two seasons once you got past the Neck, spring and summer mere formalities as winter and autumn took turns dominating the region. Times of genuine heat or clear skies were rare and quickly gave way to balmy clouded days and cool breezy nights, with the taller of the mountain peaks having visible snow on them year round. The trees reached their full flush of green in July and had already begun turning gold by early August.

And of course there was the rain. So, so much rain. It almost reminded Theon of the islands.

After going on seven months he had finally grown comfortable in the apartment. However it was still “the” apartment. Not his. He didn’t own it, he didn’t pay rent. He didn’t have a say on who came and went through it. Theon had actually had to ask permission to have Robb over, to which Ramsay had looked at him blandly and replied “not alone”.

He had just gone to Robb’s place instead.

When he came home Ramsay had been waiting, a storm brewing in his wintry eyes.

It was increasingly apparent that Ramsay was not as in control as he liked to seem. Sometimes the man simply went blank, taking on a cool and mild affect that belied something calculated and devious. Other times he was like a feral beast, ravenous and barely chained. Neither was an act - Ramsay simply ran hot and cold, his emotions riding rough or mild like the wind. It only grew more apparent as their relationship progressed. Ramsay’s calm was prone to fracture, becoming more possessive and daresay clingy when faced with even the ghost of a threat.

“You’re not my _dad_,” Theon had snapped, half-drunk and brave.

He’d gotten the belt for that.

Afterwards Ramsay had pressed his tear-stained face into the pillows, roughly positioning him from behind.

“Your daddy sold you to me for forty acres of seaside real estate,” Ramsay hissed in his ear. “You _wish_ he cared even half as much about your behavior as I do.”

The memory still left his body tingling with phantom pains.

Theon hadn’t heard from his father in months, not even to be berated for Ramsay’s threats to Rodrik and Maron. His brothers had also made themselves scarce, which was nothing new.

Yara had taken over the expansion project. She was essentially managing the business side of things anyway; Theon’s brothers were good captains but it came as no surprise that they cared little for commerce. She always made sure to visit when she made port, critically inspecting him every time. Theon didn’t know how much their brothers had told her. If they had divulged exactly why they now refused to set foot on Northern soil, she didn’t speak of it.

Yara and Ramsay didn’t like each other but always managed keep it professional for the short durations of her visits. To each other’s faces anyway.

“She’s checking you over for defects,” Ramsay had said scornfully after they’d finally seen her off. “Just looking for an excuse to jump in and _rescue_ you.”

“Rescue me?” Theon had repeated, exhaustion setting in.

_No one would think I needed rescuing if you hadn’t made my brothers watch as you skinned a man._

He kept his mouth shut. Ramsay and Yara had such forceful personalities and weathering them both at once had wrung him dry.

“They can’t have you,” Ramsay had clutched Theon’s thigh from the driver’s seat, sinking his prints into the soft flesh. “You’re mine. I’ll kill them first.”

Theon had threaded their fingers together in a manner he hoped was soothing.

“I get worried when you talk like that,” he said, having long learned that starting sentences with “please don’t” or “you shouldn’t” went nowhere good. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Although Theon was not literally locked into his gilded cage, effort had been made to make leaving it as inconvenient as possible.

When his old car finally breathed its last, Ramsay didn’t actually get him a new one (“We have a car service you can use instead.” “Yeah, because I want to be driven everywhere by your goons.”) and it was known how claustrophobic Theon got on the tube.

For Theon’s nameday Ramsay had come home with a mewling cat carrier, an 8 month old calico Coon chirping inside.

“You’re going to be the one who takes care of it,” Ramsay had said, doing a remarkable job of sounding unmoved as Theon pressed kisses into his neck.

It was a blatant move to incentivize Theon in staying at home more. Kittens needed consistent care after all, and the routine feeding was almost like a soft curfew. Still, Ramsay always expected a certain amount of gratitude for his gestures and Theon liked to reward him.

As he tugged at Ramsay’s fly he figured it probably wasn’t healthy, what they were doing. It wasn’t good that he liked how wound up Ramsay got, just by thinking about where Theon went or what he did without a chaperone. No one had ever cared like that before, nor taken the time and effort to chase him down - was it so bad to enjoy the attention?

Because Ramsay did care, probably _too_ much. Theon knew what it felt like to not be cared about at all, and would enthusiastically choose the former every time.

* * *

It wasn’t long after Theon’s nameday that he got an unexpected visitor.

He received the text message with some bewilderment before arranging the meeting at a local bookstore cafe. It had become a default place for him to go when he wanted to leave the apartment but not grapple with transportation. It was also easy enough to hide behind the shelves and shaded windows from whoever might be assigned to follow him that day.

It was cozy, nicely lit. The air smelled of worn paper and fresh coffee and it was the sort of place his mother would have loved.

Harras Harlaw was already there, examining the shelves with detached interest when Theon arrived. He wore a dark turtleneck sweater, a plain but dignified air to him as always.

“The hell are you doing here?”

The older man didn’t even look up, something which only stoked Theon’s ire more.

“I was there for your original nameday,” Harras said, still scanning the books. “It was a home birth. Rodrik and I were in his room and he had the music turned up to drown out your mother’s screams. It didn’t work.”

Theon recoiled slightly, because what the hell. “Did my sister send you?”

“No.” Harras’ gaze trailed to the side. “Rodrik didn’t want to hold you when you were born. He said you were too small, that there must have been something wrong with you. He expected for days that you would die in your crib, and didn’t want to get too close.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Harras ignored him. “Your father taught him that attachment is a weakness, and that getting attached to weak things is invitation for suffering. After your mother-”

“Harras. What the _fuck _are you doing here?”

The other man reached into a sleek black messenger bag and pulled out a manila envelope.

“Your brother sent me with this.”

Theon didn’t take it. “What is it?”

“Your mother left you a fair sum after she died. In bonds, mostly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was there when they read mom’s will, she just left me a bunch of her stuff.”

Theon had been young when his mother died, but of the understanding that she hadn’t had much of her own to leave them. While her family had money it was all under Uncle Rodrik’s control; she was free to ask for whatever she wanted, but was not directly connected to the Harlaw fortune (probably to keep Balon Greyjoy from somehow getting his hooks into it).

Theon’s brothers had gotten some land in the will, Yara had gotten a boat and some jewelry that she’d instantly gifted away. Theon had gotten a boxful of personal effects and items of sentimental value: mementos, faded photographs and old books with his mother’s scribbles in the margins. He’d never really been able to look at them. They were probably rotting in Ramsay’s storage unit.

“It was fairly under the table. She didn’t have a lot of faith that your father would take care of you once she was gone,” Harras said. “The money was meant to go to you when you turned eighteen. Your brother was instructed to pass it on.”

Theon’s mouth open and shut wordlessly. “… I’m a few fucking years past eighteen, Harras.”

“I’m aware.”

“So he just - he just -“

“He did plan on giving it to you eventually. Rodrik thought the lack of funding would encourage you to come home,” Harras said wryly. “He didn’t anticipate that you’d actually be able to sustain yourself in the North without financial support.”

Theon stared at the envelope. He was no lawyer but he was pretty sure there was something illegal about withholding an inheritance. Not that it even brushed the surface of the illegalities the Greyjoy family conducted each year, but _still_.

“Why is he giving this to me now?”

“Rodrik wants you to know that you have money. In case of… emergencies.”

Oh.

“Or in case I need to flee the country from my crazy soulmate. Is that what he means?” Theon grabbed the envelope. “This is _my _money. Rodrik’s not going to win any fucking points for giving me something he should have years ago!”

“I think we both know Rodrik is not now, nor has he ever been interested in winning ‘points’ with you,” Harras said mildly. “I would strongly suggest you cash the bonds in with your uncle’s bank. They’ll handle the matter discreetly. The contact information and instructions are in the envelope.”

“I don’t need a fucking _out_, Harras.” Theon sighed. “I’m… I’m happy. I _am_.”

“That’s nice.” Harras had always had the affect of dry kindling, making it hard to gauge his sincerity on anything. “I suspect with financial independence you’ll be happier still.”

He pulled a book from the shelf and moved to brush past Theon towards the register. He paused.

“… I always meant to apologize, for the part I played in Rodrik’s behavior. Or rather the part I didn’t. You were just a boy.” His cold eyes assessed Theon from head to toe. “And it clearly wasn’t as harmless as I’d hoped it was.”

Theon stood there frozen long after the bell jingled with his cousin’s exit.

* * *

Theon sat on the news for a while.

The notion of keeping a secret from Ramsay sent alarms ringing in his brain. Surely he couldn’t, surely Ramsay would find out, and then what?

He imagined what would happen if he came clean, if he laid the bonds on the table in full disclosure. Most would probably be concerned about their partner putting the money in a shared account to take for themselves, or at least monitor its usage, but Theon had visions of Ramsay putting them in the fire.

_You think you need this?_ He’d sneer. **_I_**_ take care of you._

And while it was true that Theon didn’t need the funds and would hardly miss their absence any more than he had all his life, it was still his mother’s last gift to him. That made it more than just money. So he called the number in the envelope, let them talk him through how to convert the paper bonds to electric. Then he sent the paperwork and the bonds off with the rest of the outgoing mail.

He had every intention of forgetting all about it.

Ramsay came by that weekend like usual, unannounced but with Theon still expected to greet him at the entrance. There was a kiss and smalltalk and setting the table, and it all felt very normal.

Then Ramsay put his fork down, the sound drawing Theon’s attention.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me, pet?”

There was no hiding how the blood instantly drained from Theon’s face. How did he know? _What_ did he know? Ramsay, formidable as he was, was still just a mortal man. Right?

“I…” He withered under that icy stare. “Yeah, actually.”

Ramsay looked at him expectantly, danger lurking beneath the surface.

“My cousin’s ship must’ve made port last week, because he came by. I mean, I call him my cousin, he’s my uncle’s cousin, but he’s my brother’s age-“ Theon swallowed dryly, lump in his throat bobbing under the red leather choker he was now made to wear at all times. “Anyway. My family’s given me some money. It’s not a big deal-“

“Not a big deal,” Ramsay repeated. “They’ve never given half a damn if you starved before. Why do you think they’re supporting you now?”

“They finally get that I’m never leaving the North, so I guess -“

“Oh you guess, do you? Because I think they’re setting you up to _leave me_.” Ramsay pushed back from the table, the scrape of his chair making Theon cringe. “When were you going to tell me, hm? After you’d packed a fucking bag?”

“That’s not true! I was- I was going to tell you!” Theon shrank back into his chair, mind spinning with desperation. “I. I wanted to surprise you.”

“With _what_?”

For a terrifying second the words were lodged in his throat. “I’m quitting my job.”

Ramsay froze. Moments passed in agonizing stillness.

“My contract with the agency lets up in November,” Theon said. “I’m not going to renew.”

So, so slowly Ramsay lowered himself back into his seat. “Really.”

“Yeah. I know you don’t like what I do, so… it seemed like the right time.”

It was a half-truth. Theon had been thinking about renegotiating his contract, but it wasn’t something he’d decided up until that moment.

“You could have done so earlier.”

“Babe,” Theon clasped Ramsay’s knee under the table. “You know I don’t like living off your money. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“What it is, is your fucking pride.” Ramsay brushed his hand off sternly. “I thought I’d have broken you of that by now.”

“I’ve been trying, alright? It’s hard for me to rely on someone else.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“It’s not about you.” Theon eased out of his seat and around the table to run his hands down Ramsay’s shoulders. “Try to understand. It just isn’t how I was raised.”

Ramsay was still taut as a wire. Theon wasn’t entirely clear on what the big deal was. He might not have been supported by his family, but he made decent coin as a model. Maybe he wasn't rolling in it, but he’d always had money. Plus even with all the cash in the world, Theon couldn’t even leave if he wanted to. They were bonded, and Theon was in no hurry to get another bout of soul sickness. With his luck he’d wind up dead next time.

“No one’s going to take me away.” Theon pressed their foreheads together. “My brothers won’t even come near the North anymore, my sister is too busy to fuss over me and everyone else is bound to my father’s decisions. This is just my family’s last send-off, okay? They’re coming to grips with me never going back home.”

“_I’m _your home,” Ramsay grumbled, even as he pulled Theon into his arms.

“I know.”

Maybe Theon didn’t know how to cope with others caring about him, but it was _nothing_ compared to Ramsay’s inability to cope with caring about someone else.

It was plain to see that Theon was having an ever-increasing effect on Ramsay’s composure, something the man was both aware of and ostensibly disgusted with himself for. It seemed to be actively driving him mad, this newly formed weakness, and the guy hadn’t exactly been sane to start with.

_What did you think would happen?_ Theon sometimes wanted to ask, watching the fire and frustration play out in his soulmate’s eyes. _Did you think you could take all of me and not lose any of yourself in return? That you wouldn’t be mine as much as I’m yours?_

Of course he didn’t say that. Theon wasn’t allowed to be smug, nor to forget who was still in charge. Those were the rules.

He didn’t mind it as much as he maybe should have; everyone had always told him he needed to be put in his place, but been poorly equipped to do so. His family had been stern but unloving, the Starks kind but largely aloof. Meanwhile Ramsay was relentless, intense… he fixed his attentions on Theon like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

And when he was laid down in the bed that smelled like the two of them, blanketed in his soulmate’s warmth, it did feel like coming home.

* * *

It was late at night when Ramsay rolled over, chin coming to rest on Theon’s shoulder.

“Theon?”

He sleepily shifted between the sheets. “Mm?”

“If you ever try to leave me, I’m going to hunt you down and fake your death,” Ramsay said gently. “And then you can spend the rest of your fucking life in my basement.”

* * *

They spent the next weekend at Ramsay’s house.

The place was still a bit too big and populated for Theon’s total comfort, but he’d gotten used to it. The staff didn’t bat an eye at his wanderings (even as fascinated with his very existence they quietly seemed to be), Walda was always kind and Roose was easy enough to avoid.

Save for meal times, of course.

Theon was convinced Roose’s determination to have family meals was some sort of power play. Come hell or high water everyone was going to sit at that table and eat together, no matter how painfully awkward or resentful they felt about doing so.

On some terrible occasions Theon was reluctantly made to retrieve Ramsay from his ‘office’, which was really just a polite way of saying ‘dungeon’.

He had learned that Ramsay didn’t have just one workplace, but several. The lab at the end of the property was but one, and not even the most regularly used. People were only brought to the Bolton estate to be dealt with if they were traitors or someone who had otherwise gotten too close to the operation. The general rabble were typically brought to the Bolton’s corporate tower.

Theon had been there only once before; it was an area only accessible via a secure elevator and past a guarded checkpoint.

“There’s a basement?” He’d asked with some surprise.

“We have a few lower levels,” Ramsay had replied. “Most of them are rather boring - storage, filing and the like. But the main labs are down here too.”

They had moved down sterile hallways, the only sounds being their footsteps and the hum of fluorescent lights. Security cameras were at every corner. Ramsay had made him sit in a little break room while he worked, and Theon had thanked the gods that it was all so well soundproofed.

Meanwhile the dungeons of the Bolton property were far more aptly named. There were ancient and meticulously maintained tunnels beneath the mansion. Theon knocked on the heavy door without ceremony.

Muffled from within, “_What_?”

Theon rolled his eyes. “Permission to enter the seventh hell?”

A pause. “Permission granted.”

The door swung open, releasing the overpowering smell of iron and antiseptic, among other things. Theon immediately averted his eyes to the ceiling, bile rising in his throat.

“Fuck Ramsay, I thought you’d be cleaning up by now.”

“So I’ve gone overtime. Deal with it.” There was the metallic clink of a scalpel being placed in a steel tray.

“It’s nearly time for dinner. You’re going to shower first or what? This can’t be hygienic.”

“How dare you insult my operation.” Ramsay turned to the motionless man strapped to his wall. “Can you believe what I have to put up with? I get no respect around here.”

Theon did not look. He didn’t want to see if the man was dead or not, nor what Ramsay was doing. He also didn’t want that man’s face in his dreams tonight.

“I’m going back upstairs,” He said, still guarding his eyes. “Please wrap this up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

The swat to his ass made him jump, with him nearly tripping into a tray of instruments on account of still having his eyes half-covered.

“Oh for the love of…” He looked humorlessly at the near perfect ruddy handprint that was now branded to the seat of his jeans. “Seriously?”

“What? I think it’s an improvement.”

“You’re intolerable. Now I have to change and we’ll both be late.”

Ramsay shrugged, unapologetic. “Prude.”

Theon had never been accused of being a prude in his entire life and was temporarily lost for words. He forcefully swung the door shut behind him, ignoring the glances of every staff member as he navigated the halls back to their room.

The things he put up with.

* * *

For the most part Bolton family meals were a spectator sport of watching Ramsay and his father trade poorly concealed barbs at one another. Each was constantly vying for the last word, with Dr. Bolton the reigning champion.

The current matter of contention was Ramsay’s upcoming ‘business trip’. His father was sending him to White Harbor for reasons that Theon wasn’t officially privy to. However from their half-heartedly coded language he gleaned that one of the Bolton allies had someone in need of interrogating, and transporting a prisoner was more risky than just sending the torturer down there personally.

“I should be able to take him with me,” Ramsay said irritably, gesturing at Theon across the table.

“You’re there to work,” Dr. Bolton said. “No distractions. No risks. We don’t want to look any less than professional in front of our associates, do we?”

Ramsay said nothing, though his glare spoke volumes.

“Don’t be childish. Your pet will keep until you return.”

Theon wished Dr. Bolton wouldn’t be so blunt with his son, knowing who would have to deal with the consequences. The man even had the brass to appear amused, in his lofty way, by the long-suffering look Theon gave him.

Theon had done his best to do his ‘job’ of managing Ramsay’s mood swings. It wasn’t easy but he had developed a good sense of when Ramsay needed to be soothed versus when he needed an outlet. Sometimes it felt like he really was a chew toy after all, but if his boyfriend was more stable and in control as a result of their relationship, it meant Dr. Bolton now saw him as more asset than liability.

Demeaning and thankless as the role could be… it was also nice in a strange way, to have a place and purpose in the house.

True to form Ramsay spent the evening after dinner restlessly pacing the bedroom.

“It’s only a few days,” Theon offered, sat on the bed. “Not even a week. We’ve gone that long apart before.”

“Not with me out of town,” Ramsay groused. “Not with me working a job I can’t walk away from if something happens.”

“What’s going to happen?”

Ramsay’s eyes flashed. “You tell me.”

Theon struggled not to rise to the bait. “You’re always accusing me of not trusting you. But it’s that you don’t trust me, isn’t it? I don’t know what more I can do, Ramsay!”

“Don’t you turn this around on me. Not when you’re the one who’s always getting scared and running off.”

“I get scared because you’re fucking scary, alright! But I always came back. You’ve got my fucking soul for god’s sake. Where the hell am I going to go?”

“Why don’t you ask your fucking cousin and his offshore bank account,” Ramsay snapped. “I’m sure he’s got an idea.”

“I can’t go back to the islands and you know it. As you’re so keen to mention, my dad sold me to put this deal through, remember?” Theon folded his arms over his chest defensively. “And the Starks aren’t going to go to war with your dad over me. I’m here. Why don’t you believe that?”

“Don’t do that.”

Theon had to restrain himself from pulling his hair out. “Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m some insecure bitch. I don’t need you. You’re here because you’re mine and that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Theon echoed. “That’s how it is? You’re ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?”

“I understand having an allergy to sentiment, I do.” Theon was fighting to keep his voice level. “But are you actually going to stand there and pretend to my face that you haven’t caught feelings, and that it’s not why you’ve been acting especially crazy the past few weeks?”

“You watch your fucking mouth.”

“So I’m just another piece of property? Another one of your fucking dogs?” He held up his little finger, the red mark burning accusatorially bright. “It could be anybody with this band on their finger and it wouldn’t matter?”

Ramsay averted his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“_Fine_.” He motioned to leave the room only to have an iron grip lock around his arm.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m going for a walk, Ramsay. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be able to track exactly where I fucking am at all times, like you always do!”

The grip tightened and Theon could actually feel the blood flow to his arm being blocked.

“You go when I say you can,” Ramsay hissed. “And I _don’t._”

He shoved Theon back onto the bed, finger cruelly hooking into the ring of his choker.

“I can see you’re going to need a tune-up before I leave. Can’t have you forgetting yourself while I’m away, can we?” Ramsay asked, flipping from seething rage to sickening sweetness on a dime.

“Ramsay I’m not playing any games, I’m seriously upset right now.”

“You’re being uppity because I don’t want to coddle you.” Ramsay hauled the chest from under the bed in a single fluid motion.

“Oh please. You’re going to punish me for calling you out on your bullshit? Seriously?”

Ramsay unearthed a flogger from the box, cracking it experimentally against the air.

“I’m going to punish you for that big mouth of yours, first and foremost,” he said. “As well as to remind you of how things work here: you take what I give you. No more, no less.”

“This isn’t going to go away by beating me. We need to talk about this.”

Ramsay’s eyes were like ice. “You need to bite your tongue and take off your clothes before you make things worse for yourself.”

Theon scowled before doing as he was told in quick, angered motions. He held onto his bitterness even as he got into position. Ramsay could whip him all day and night if he wanted, and the pain would still pale in comparison to being emotionally spurned by your soulmate.

_He’s lying_, Theon thought fiercely to himself as the first blow cut across his back. _He has to be._

* * *

Theon could barely sleep through the night, his skin sore and stinging as it was. The pain pursued him throughout the day, compounded by the ache of having woken up alone that morning.

Everything hurt, but worst of all was the vacant space in his chest. Maybe he had been stupid after all, to expect so much, but it was still hard to swallow his bitterness. It wasn’t like any of this was easy for Theon either. Wanting Ramsay, liking Ramsay. Getting emotionally attached. None of it was something Theon Greyjoy had any experience or prior inclination for. It was new, frightening territory for them both. Why did Ramsay get to keep all his walls up while Theon was stripped bare and exposed?

These feelings had so quickly crept up on him and blossomed into something he couldn’t control.

At one point in particular he’d come very close to slipping up.

It had been back at the archery range, the site of their first unofficial date. Apparently Ramsay was something of an archer too, so they’d gone back together. Theon still hadn’t warmed up to the idea of going on a hunting trip with him, so it was a nice compromise. A hobby they could share.

They’d spent hours wandering the trails from target to target. Once darkness fell they’d stumbled off the path, tangling together against a great tree. It had been going so well that Theon had finally found the courage to try oral for the first time - he hadn’t known what he was doing and it had probably been a mediocre job at best, but you wouldn’t have known by its reception.

When it was done he’d stayed on his knees a moment, catching his breath. They’d locked eyes and Theon had come _very _close to saying something he’d never said before. Something he could never have taken back.

But he hadn’t said it. Not in words, not out loud. He’d gotten scared at the last minute and said something snarky and obnoxious instead.

Maybe he had secretly known Ramsay wouldn’t say it back.

Theon eventually dragged himself out of bed, knowing he would be expected at the breakfast table.

The meal was even more uncomfortably quiet and tense than usual, with him sullenly avoiding Ramsay’s gaze to pick at his food. Once it was done everyone went their separate ways, with Theon free to wander until Ramsay returned from whatever deep forest shed he was torturing someone in this time.

He still didn’t have the best internal map of the Bolton estate, but he knew enough to meander to and from his favored spots. He would mostly drift between the pool, library and Ramsay’s room when his boyfriend was busy, occasionally finding himself in the kennels. Even though cats were indeed his preference, he had been saved by one of Ramsay’s hounds that night in the woods and had developed an appropriate fondness for the beasts.

The flock of Caucasian Shepherds nearly trampled him in their excitement every time he journeyed down there, tails and tongues wagging, noses searching for treats. It was endearing, especially when he was so wanting for even a little affection.

“It’s nearly time for their run,” Ben said with a nod at the pack. “They’ll be a bit easier to contend with when they return.”

“You just set them loose in the forest?” Theon asked as the kennelmaster went about refilling the hounds’ water.

“They mostly run the trails and never go beyond the Bolton property,” Ben said. “Sometimes they’ll come back wet with blood from hunting some creature or other. Always gives the poor Mrs. Bolton a fright.”

“Is that safe?”

“Safe for who?” Ben laughed. “They sure keep the property safe from intruders, if that’s what you mean.”

Theon frowned as he rubbed the ears of the nearest dog. The beasts hadn’t done him any harm when he’d gone stumbling through the Bolton’s neck of the woods. At the time he’d been only a stranger on their land, hadn’t he?

“You needn’t worry on the animals’ behalf. Your young sir has them well trained. He and my girl came down here all the time in their childhood to see to their exercises.”

Theon paused. “Your girl?”

Ben chuckled with some awkwardness. “Ah. My daughter, Myranda. She’s been away for school the past few months. Never had an interest in college before, but… well.”

There wasn’t anything to say after that.

Theon stayed behind after Ben set the hounds out, the dogs thundering into the trees and out of sight. Once he was alone he couldn’t help but poke around the kennels. The accommodations were better than what some people lived in: it was heated for a start, with gleaming floors and artful iron fencing for the stalls. Theon carefully explored the cupboards lining the far wall, eyes passing over the bags of dog food and stacks of folded blankets.

He opened a wooden footlocker to find a mismatched pile of mauled toys: frisbees, braided ropes, bones… he nudged them aside, not entirely sure what he was looking for. Then he glimpsed it.

His heartbeat quickened as his fingers tangled with worn fabric. He pulled it out from beneath the tangle of chewed toys, eyes widening.

It was his shirt. The sullied, long-lost shirt that had been in his old gym bag. The bag that had gone missing months ago, back when this whole debacle started. He could even see the small stain where he’d once spilled energy drink on himself.

“What are you doing?”

Theon jumped.

Ramsay was leaning in the doorway, watching him calmly.

“I…” Theon cleared his throat. “I used to have a shirt just like this.”

“Oh?” Ramsay’s eyes passed over him casually. “Well put it away love, and come upstairs.”

“Okay.” His voice was small as he dropped his shirt back into the chest.

Ramsay’s hand was not a vice but it might as well have been. Theon would have almost preferred to be dragged or treated roughly, to be allowed the pretense of a struggle. Instead he meekly followed where Ramsay led.

* * *

The drive home was quiet.

Theon had retreated inward and Ramsay wasn’t inclined to coax him out.

_He was in my old apartment,_ he thought dazedly to himself. _He took my things. What else did he do?_

He tried to remember, even though those days were a bit of a blur. His things moving around or missing, his lights left on… he cursed himself for being such a drunken slob back then, because god help him he didn’t know what he should or shouldn’t take responsibility for.

Why would Ramsay take his clothes? To give to his dogs, to get them used to his scent? That wasn’t so insidious, was it?

Unless he expected Theon to somehow wind up wandering in his woods.

His hand drifted to his phone in his jeans pocket. He never had gotten around to buying a new one for himself.

_And how did he know I called the bank?_

When they arrived at the penthouse Ramsay herded him gently inside, sitting him on the couch. Smiler immediately scurried out from her hiding place, purring loudly and rubbing against his legs. She never appreciated being left alone and fed by the tower staff. She gave an indignant mewl as Ramsay brushed her aside.

“I hate when we fight,” he said mildly, tugging Theon’s shoes off. “It’s this damn trip, hm? It has us all out of sorts. But I won’t be gone long and I’ll be checking in on you throughout. Nothing to worry about.”

Theon might have asked who Ramsay was trying to convince.

“You’ll behave yourself, won’t you? I want you back in the apartment before dark, every day I’m gone. No guests, no traveling outside the city. Understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Ramsay pecked him on the forehead. “You’re such a needy thing, aren’t you?”

_Me?_ Theon thought wryly. _I’m not the overbearing tyrant who gets jealous of a fucking cat._

“Sorry,” he said hollowly instead. “I’ve never had a relationship like this before.”

“I know, pet.” Ramsay squeezed his hands. “It’ll be fine. Just trust me and I’ll take care of everything.”

_But when are you going to trust me?_

He nodded numbly as Ramsay pulled away, beginning to go about the typical evening routine.

_And how can I trust you when I don’t know what you’ve done?_

* * *

They had sex the morning of Ramsay’s departure. It wasn’t slow and lazy the way it usually was before they had their coffee. Theon had dug his nails into Ramsay’s back, leaving marks the other man would be sure to feel while he was away. He had leaned into each thrust, eyes searching Ramsay’s own raw gaze for any glimpse of something he could hold onto. Something that would help him learn the truth.

Then Ramsay had flipped him over to take him from behind.

They finally kissed goodbye in the foyer while waiting for Ramsay’s elevator down.

“I’ll call you tonight, though I’m not sure when. Wait up for me.”

“Of course.”

And then he was gone.

Theon didn’t expect to feel so bereft in the aftermath. It didn’t make much rational sense. Even though Ramsay dropped by regularly like he owned the place (because he did) they didn’t actually, technically live together. It wasn’t uncommon for them to only meet up on the weekends. A few days apart was nothing.

But Theon could feel the distance in his gut. He wondered if it was another soulbond thing, and if he could actually sense Ramsay traveling further and further from him. He let Smiler jump into his lap, his fingers kneading into her fur.

“Four whole days, just you and me,” he murmured.

It was strange, to know without doubt that Ramsay wouldn’t be dropping by at any moment like a surprise inspection. Theon could do almost anything. Sleep all day, smoke weed and jack off like he used to, and Ramsay wouldn’t find out. Probably. Could he?

Theon had made jokes about the apartment being bugged in the past but now he was starting to get paranoid. He looked quizzically at his phone on the nearby table.

“… I think I need a new charger.”

* * *

Theon wandered the shelves of the appliance store for at least ten minutes before walking up to the sleepy-looking employee at the counter.

“Uh, hi.”

The employee gave him a lazy glance of acknowledgement. “Hey.”

“I was just wondering… hacking someone’s cellphone. How does that work?” It more graceless than how he’d hoped to phrase the question, but he wasn’t at his best at the moment.

The guy looked at him oddly for a second before shrugging. “Well, it’s pretty easy nowadays. A person doesn’t even need to know much. Just get maybe ten minutes alone with the device, and there’s software you can download onto it. After that you can remotely monitor their calls and data usage, track their location, activate their camera-“

“Could you send fake calls or texts?” Theon asked. “Access accounts if they’re logged in on mobile?”

“You can do just about anything. Read emails, record calls, delete apps. It’s _meant_ to be used by parents to watch their kids or by employers to monitor company phones, but it’s pretty sleazy regardless.” The guy gave him a pointed stare. “Using software like that on a phone you didn’t buy is also illegal.”

Theon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The guy probably thought he was some Ironborn brute trying to stalk an ex-girlfriend.

“And how would you know if the software was on your phone?”

“There are some signs, like weird phone activity, the power draining or cutting out randomly… but for the layman the best thing to do is either bring it in to be looked at or to just run a factory reset.”

“Oh.”

Theon didn’t have his old phone anymore. He broke it that night in the woods.

_Or Ramsay said I broke it._

And he’d been using the one his boyfriend bought ever since.

“Great.” Theon nodded awkwardly before placing the charger on the counter. “Thanks.”

He left the store with a frown, a car waiting for him on the shoulder.

Damon looked at him suspiciously from the passenger seat as Theon climbed into the back.

“You were in there a while.”

“I didn’t realize browsing was a crime. You ever going to stop trying to get me in trouble, Damon?”

“_No._”

“Eh, leave him be,” Skinner said as they pulled away from the curb. “We’re getting paid by the hour anyway.”

“If he fucks up while Ramsay’s away it’ll be our heads on the block. I’m not bleeding for some Ironborn dandy, alright?”

“Fuck you too.” Theon muttered, though his mind was elsewhere.

His phone was so heavy in his pocket.

* * *

“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Theon was saying, pacing the bedroom. “I’m jumping to conclusions.”

Smiler rolled over on the bed and yawned, tail swishing.

“Exactly. I mean we weren’t even dating yet when the weird phone shit started. Why would he do that?” Theon asked, to which his cat had predictably no answer. “Unless he actually wanted me to think I was crazy-“

A pause.

“… Why would he want me to think I was going crazy?”

Smiler blinked her baby blue eyes at him.

Theon turned his phone over in his hands. There was no way of knowing if the software had been on his old, long deceased mobile, but maybe there was a way of testing it on this one.

He dialed the number and motioned for Smiler to be patient as it rang.

“_Theon?_” Jon’s voice sounded faintly bewildered. _“What’s going on?_”

“Why does something have to be going on?”

_“Because you haven’t called me since you went on a bender, woke up on Bear Island and didn’t want Robb to find out._”

“Well having this conversation over text would be awkward, alright?”

“_It’s already awkward. If this is about your boy troubles again, I’m begging you to just call Robb._”

The two of them would always be on the antagonistic end of the sibling scale, but ever since divulging the full truth to Jon, the man had become Theon’s go-to for talking about these sorts of things. Jon didn’t appreciate it.

“You know why I can’t. I need someone who simultaneously knows the full story and doesn’t give a shit about me, and like it or not that’s just you.”

_“I don’t not give a shit about you Theon, it’s just-“ _A sigh. _“You should be careful about how much you tell me.”_

“You check passports at the border Jon, it doesn’t make you a damn cop.”

_“Ugh. Just tell me what he’s done now, already.”_

“He’s gone out of town.” Theon sat on the bed, lightly scratching Smiler’s belly. “… Do you think Ramsay could love me?”

There was a choking sound on the other line. _“Theo- that- what the fuck are you asking _me_ that for?”_

“In your opinion. I mean, do you think he’s capable of loving me?”

_“I can’t be the only one you can talk to about this,” _Jon was seemingly begging the gods as much as Theon himself. _“I can’t be.”_

“Quit being a baby. I’m having a crisis over here.”

“_I don’t know, Theon! I’ve never even met the guy, unless you count the time I pulled you two apart in that bar fight. Or the time I pulled him and Robb apart in _their _bar fight.”_

“Technically it was the bar parking lot, but fine.”

_“Where is this even coming from? Do you… do you think you love him or something?”_

Theon paused. “Maybe.”

They were both quiet, giving the admission the moment of silence it deserved.

“It’s just hard,” Theon said. “When he doesn’t really let me get that close.”

_“He seems to keep you plenty close. You're literally his trophy wife.”_

"Am not!"

"_You're a model and former athletic champion with a loaded family. Accept your fate, Theon._" Jon drawled. "_And you can't tell me hasn't been throwing his money at you since day one._"

“Well yeah, but that’s like… material stuff." And a manipulation in its own right, if not an outright trap. "I’m talking about the emotional shit.”

_“Gods, Theon Greyjoy wants emotional intimacy. I wonder what the next sign of the apocalypse will be.”_

“Smartass.” Theon huffed. “I can’t take the plunge alone, you know? I’m not actually a fucking dog, he can’t expect to be the center of my universe and only give whatever he feels like.”

_“I’m getting glimpses into your sex life I never wanted nor asked for.”_

“But I mean… do you think it’s even possible? That he could be capable of love?” A beat. “And I’m. I’m lovable, right?”

_“Fucking hell, Theon.” _There was a thud, like Jon knocking his head on something. _“_**_Yes_**_, okay, you’re lovable.”_

“How much did it kill you to say that?”

_“Shut up. As for Bolton, I don’t fucking know. But I will say that from an outsider’s perspective, he’s fucking obsessed with you.”_

“Well I could’ve told you that after he talked about keeping me in his basement.”

_“After he talked about _what_-!?“_

“Thanks for the talk, Jon.” He hung up and lay back on the bed.

Obsessed, huh. But was it because of the soul mark or because Ramsay actually liked him? And how much did it matter? In a world without marks Theon was pretty sure he and Ramsay would have killed each other before discovering any measure of compatibility… but even with that in mind, he thought they had a good thing going.

Even if it was likely built on a foundation of manipulation and lies.

Theon looked at Smiler with a sigh. “I think that went pretty well.”

* * *

Ramsay had led Theon to believe he’d be calling in the wee hours of the night. Instead the phone began to go off during dinner.

“Hey,” Theon answered between bites. “How’s White Harbor?”

“_Wet and miserable. The sooner this job is done the better._”

“Well don’t go too hard on the poor guy. It’s only day one.”

“_Hm. What did you do today?”_

Theon smothered a smile in case Ramsay could hear it in his voice.

“Not much. Got a new phone charger. Spent the rest of the day at home.”

_“Is that all?”_

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Seconds ticked by and Theon could no longer keep the grin off his face.

_“You didn’t do anything else?” _Ramsay asked, a warning in his voice. _“You know I can always tell when you’re holding back on me.”_

Yeah, Theon bet he could. Spying son of a bitch.

He looked down at his plate and assumed a guilty, caught tone. “I ordered pizza. I know you say I shouldn’t-“

“_That’s not-_“ Ramsay took a moment to collect himself, frustration bleeding through his words. _“I’ll punish you for being a glutton later. There isn’t anything you want to tell me?”_

“Well…” Theon trailed off. “I mean, I called Jon. That’s not a big deal, is it?”

A heavy breath. _“Jon Snow. The Stark bastard.”_

“There’s no need to be rude,” Theon said, quite hypocritically given that he couldn’t remember ever not being rude to Jon. “He’s family.”

_“Uh huh. And what did you two talk about?”_

“There’s no reason to be jealous of Jon. He’s just nice to talk to sometimes. I can tell him things without him getting fussy like Robb does.”

_“What kind of things?”_

Theon chewed spitefully. If Ramsay wanted him to say it, he’d have to fucking work for it.

“Just things. It’s not like you’re always in a conversational mood.”

“_Theon_-“

“It’s fine. You don’t want to talk about it, so we won’t talk about it,” Theon said, doing his best to sound sincere. “I shouldn’t have been so pushy. I won’t bring it up again.”

There was a silence and Theon could just see Ramsay in his mind’s eye, caught between what he wanted to hear and the conversation he still refused to have. Then the line went dead.

Theon discarded his phone with a snort. So the bastard had been listening in on his calls.

He should have been horrified. Maybe he was, on some level. However at the current moment anger and indignation had overridden all else - how fucking _dare_ he?

The missing clothes meant Ramsay had demonstrated access to Theon’s old apartment. The hacked phone meant he also had power over Theon’s cyber and mobile activity. Fuck. Had Theon ever been soulsick at all? Or was it all just some fucked up game?

And yet he _had_ gotten sick, hadn’t he? Unless Ramsay had fucking poisoned him too, and gods, who could even say he hadn’t?

There was no way of knowing.

* * *

He spent the next two days at home, lying around with his cat and thinking himself in circles.

For some petty revenge he started watching porn on his phone. Ramsay always hated the idea of him getting off without permission, but it wasn’t like the man could prove he did it without revealing his own indiscretion. It was also just kind of funny, how prevalent Ironborn men seemed to be as far as porn niches went. Almost like the rest of Westeros had some unresolved issues with them or something…

Of course Theon always played the angel when Ramsay called him. No sir, I’ve been reading books and watching football all day. What do you _mean_ you don’t believe me?

‘Drive Ramsay mad from 150 miles away’ quickly became the favorite game of the week. His search history quickly filled with queries like “why doesn’t my soulmate trust me” and “poor communication, relationship”. Looking up “is my boyfriend’s jealousy a sign that he’s cheating on me” was just something he did for fun, but Ramsay’s barely reigned-in fury when he called that night made it especially worth it.

Well good. They were going to have a real goddamn conversation if it was the last thing Theon did. Which of course it could be; that last call really had Ramsay spitting venom, despite him being unable to say exactly why he was so angry.

With the man himself set to return tomorrow, Theon was bracing himself to face the music. The fallout was bound to be magnificent, and he intended to confront it with grim resignation. A true shame it had to come to this, really.

Like an inmate bound for the gallows he decided to have one last decent meal. For all he knew it’d be the last time he saw the light of day for a long time. He descended the elevator to the lobby and flagged a cab.

“You know the riverside fish shack? Take me there.”

Maybe he wasn’t brave enough to risk getting wasted, but by god he could go to the nearest body of water, eat seafood and internally bitch that it wasn’t as good as the stuff back home like a proper depressed Ironborn. It was the next best thing.

The rain was coming down hard, so at least the world outside matched his inner mood. After a moment’s inspiration he pulled out his phone and typed into the browser, “i think my soulmate wants to be just friends with benefits”.

_God_ his ass was getting kicked into next week once Ramsay came home.

His attention was yanked from his phone by the sound of the cabbie laying on his horn. Apparently the jackass in front of them had stopped in the middle of the side street.

“Wait here.” The cabbie stepped out of the car, where he promptly began talking and gesturing at the driver of the car in front.

Theon just wanted fish and chips. Maybe a beer. Why did everything have to be so difficult?

His nerves began to tense when he saw another car slowly roll up behind them. As a child he’d been briefed on what to do if someone tried to kidnap him for ransom - it was just something old money families had to do, even if their income was legitimate and especially if it wasn’t.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The windshield was blurred and distorted through the sheet of rainwater running down it, so he didn’t see exactly what they did to the cabbie driver, only that the man quickly hit the pavement. Theon dialed his phone with one hand whilst wrestling over the divider to lock the cab doors with the other.

It went straight to voicemail. Brilliant.

“Uh, hi babe. I know you’re probably working right now but I seem be getting abducted, so. If you could do something about that, it’d be great. Okay. Bye.” The barrel of a gun was rapping on the car window. “Just a minute! Oh, and I’m at the corner of Cerwyn Street and Whitewater Avenue.”

The passenger window shattered, causing his ears to ring.

“Please don’t be mad at me I swear I was just getting fish and chips-“ a hand was reaching in, unlocking the cab doors. “And if they kill me I want you to take care of the cat.”

He hung up just as his own door opened, two sets of arms wrestling him out of the backseat and into the rain.

* * *

When they finally removed his blindfold he found himself sat in what seemed to be a very large mechanic’s garage. The floor space was mostly cleared, but the air was thick with the smell of oil and smoke. The clatter of rain was loud upon the tin roof.

“It’s Greyjoy, isn’t it?”

Theon didn’t recognize the guy sitting in front of him, cigarette burning between his fingers. The fact that he was being allowed to see the man’s face was a bad sign.

“Yep. And you are…?”

“Can call me Dale, I suppose. It won’t matter soon enough.”

“Cool. So who is this about, then?” Theon asked. “My dad, the Starks or -“

“Your boyfriend,” Dale said with a huff of disgust. “Or wait, do you prefer soulmate?”

“Ah.” Theon shifted, the rickety chair beneath him squeaking. “Well. I mean he prefers the latter, but only because he’s got some hangups about, like, labels. And intimacy. It’s a thing we’ve sort of been working on.”

The guy stared at him, unimpressed. “I was going to let you know that this isn’t personal. Nothing to do with you, really. But all things considered you’ve really made this easy on me.”

“What you mean?”

“I mean, how innocent can you be if you’re soulbound to that psychopath?” Dale asked. “Add in the fact that you’re the son of a crime lord and maybe I’m doing a good deed after all.”

“I see the misunderstanding. It’s actually a bit more complicated than that-“

“This would have been a lot harder if you’d been a decent guy,” he continued, pulling out a long knife from his boot. “Although if you were decent, you wouldn’t have that mark on your finger, would you?”

“You know what they say; love is cruel and fate unkind.” Theon grimaced as the blade caught the light, flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but should I know who you are?”

“No. You might have heard of my sister, though I doubt it. Her name was Violet.”

The name very, very faintly rang a bell, but drew nothing concrete from the files of Theon’s mind. Dale clearly read it on his face and nodded, taking another drag of the cigarette.

“That’s fine. She was a ways before you came along. My sister was always a bit wayward. Our household wasn’t the most stable. I wasn’t always there for her. You know how it can be, I’m sure.”

“Sure.”

“Eventually she fell in with some bad crowds. Made some bad choices. Drugs, turning tricks, that kind of thing.” Dale exhaled a plume of smoke. “Then one day she gives me a call, after years of nothing. Says she’s got a problem. Pregnant with some rich bastard’s bastard. ‘I have a plan’, she says. She’s going to keep it, get some money and put her life in order. Problem is that the guy’s fucking crazy.”

Oh boy. Theon was beginning to get an idea of how this story ended. The key was to keep Dale talking regardless, and the man clearly had a lot to say.

“She starts telling me about the things she’s seen him do. What he’s made her do. Him and that whore of his. His fucking games, his dungeon, his _hunts_. Now I may not walk the straight n’narrow myself, but what kind of sick fuck does that to girls?” Dale scowled, hand tightening on his cig. “Did you know about that? That he runs girls down and rapes ‘em in the woods? Feeds what’s left to his dogs?”

Theon’s gaze fell to his knees. “I… I’ve heard the rumors.”

He thought Ramsay didn’t do that anymore. Or rather he assumed.

“And you crawled into his bed anyway.” Dale spat on the floor. “Like I said. You make it easy.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Theon said, wrists chafing against his binds. “Once the mark showed up he didn’t give me a choice.”

“You could’ve died. That’s what you Ironborn do, right? Better to face death like a man than live like a dog.”

“He would never let me die,” Theon said dully, factually. “He’d keep me alive. Chain me up in some pit if I tried to leave.”

For several moments the only sound was the rain.

“You should let me go,” Theon said, all pretense of humor gone. “I’m sorry about your sister. I won’t tell him I saw your face, or learned your name. Let me go and I’ll let you go. This doesn’t have to happen.”

“You’re going to show _me_ mercy?” Dale shook his head. “You’re not the one in control here.”

“Whether you kill me or don’t, this isn’t going to end well for you.”

“I’m not afraid to die. That bastard killed my sister. My _pregnant _sister. She was carrying _his_ goddamn hellspawn and he killed her like an animal so he wouldn’t have to pay fucking _child support_.”

“There’s worse things than death.”

“Sure is. But I’m going to give you a clean one. Eventually.” Dale thumbed his knife. “I hear the mark fades after you die, so I’ll send that finger of yours to him first and he can watch it happen. It’s more than he gave us.”

“And then what? You’re just going to kill me and hope for the best?” Theon said. “Maybe you don’t think you have anything to lose anymore, but I know you didn’t pull this off alone. Do your friends know you brought them in on a suicide mission?”

“Watch your tongue. Your bastard’s been killing and tormenting Northern girls for years. You think I’m the only one who’s lost someone to him? Somebody has to teach him a lesson,” Dale said. “If you had an ounce of virtue, you’d have already slit his throat in the night.”

“I’ve never been accused of being virtuous,” Theon said. “I know Ramsay’s a bad man. Maybe the worst. But he’s mine and I’m his. If that makes me crazy or a bad man too… well. Guess I’m a Greyjoy after all.”

“That or just a coward,” Dale sneered.

“Maybe.” Theon looked around the empty garage. “Do you want to check on your friends?”

“What?”

“You might want to,” Theon said. “You did pretty well at the start. You waited until Ramsay was out of town, got the jump on me, probably took the battery from my phone. Your downfall was underestimating just how overbearing my boyfriend actually is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve got more eyes on me than a mobster’s trophy wife. I can’t even sneeze without him calling me and asking why I haven’t been taking my vitamins,” Theon said. “He’s probably got trackers in all my shoes, for fuck’s sake. You got a head start because I took a cab, but his boys are never more than twenty minutes behind. Especially with Ramsay away and how much I’ve been riling him up this week.”

Dale was whipping out his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“If you’d taken my offer when I gave it, you would’ve had maybe ten minutes to run. Maybe.” Theon shrugged sullenly. “Look, I really am sorr-“

“Shut the fuck up!” Dale was holding his phone to his ear. “Pick up your damn… fucking _finally_, where have you bee- what? Who is this?”

_“Yeah sorry man, your buddy can’t come to the phone. Gimme a minute here.”_

There was a clatter somewhere in the distance, followed by a thud against the outside of the building. A few moments later there was the shrill creak of a door swinging open, spilling light into the garage.

Damon was wiping his knife on his trousers, phone propped in the crook of his shoulder.

“Oh there you are. This place is a bit of a pain the ass to get to, y’know?” Damon hung up the phone and nodded in Theon’s direction. “Still in one piece, princess?”

“Ostensibly.”

“Not for long you ain’t. Boss is on his way up and there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Try not to sound so fucking excited.”

“Aw, bitter that your sugar daddy’s gonna be taking you over his knee, huh? Too fucking bad. We’ve been running around after you with him yelling in our ears all afternoon. There’s a goddamn game on tonight, for gods’ sake.”

“Now just wait a minute-“ Dale’s words ended in a scream as a bullet tore through his leg, the sound of it echoing around the garage.

There was the ting of a shell hitting the floor, followed by steady footfalls. Alyn casually reloaded his gun, having slunk in from some back entrance or other.

“Someone better wrap his leg before he bleeds out. Poor cunt doesn’t get to die until Ramsay says so.”

“You fucking do it then. I’m the one who’s been tranquing these assholes in the pissing rain while Skinner was faffing about in the car.”

“Is anybody going to untie me, maybe?” Theon asked, pointedly jostling his chair.

The two men looked at him dully.

In unison, “No.”

* * *

“This is the worst rescue I’ve ever had,” Theon said, swiveling miserably in his chair.

There were about five men in Dale’s crew, now piled into the garage in various states of bleeding and sedated. Theon had always thought tranq darts were something from movies, but apparently the wide world of big game hunting was one of endless possibility.

Theon wondered if they’d all lost someone to Ramsay’s games. Sisters, girlfriends.

_God,_ he thought, stomach squirming. _I’m with the bad guys in this story._

Everyone still conscious enough to do so tensed at the sound of tires grinding on wet pavement. Theon tightened his grip on his the armrests of his chair.

The footsteps were earth-shaking as they neared the entrance, a shadow passing over the line of light beneath the door. It opened, revealing a silhouette backlit by the gray skies and pouring rain.

“Well. Isn’t this an unfortunate surprise.”

“Hi honey,” Theon said flatly, sagging into his seat. “How was your trip?”

“I’ve had better.” Ramsay entered the garage in long, easy strides, pale eyes taking him in. “You let them tie you up. Should I be jealous?”

“Well, they’re a lot lousier at knotwork than you.” Theon wriggled one of his wrists half-free as demonstration. “So there’s that.”

“Mm.”

Ramsay grasped the chair between Theon’s legs and pulled him closer with a metallic shriek. He then leaned over him, bracketing Theon in with his body. The smell of woodsy cologne filled the space between them.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you missed me?”

“I thought it went without saying.” Theon craned his neck to look him in the eyes. “I missed you very much.”

“Really? Even with all the misbehaving you’ve been doing?”

He blinked, the image of innocent confusion. “Are you mad at me for getting kidnapped?”

Ramsay scowled. “Don’t you play dumb with me. I know what you’ve been up to.”

“I haven’t-“

Ramsay’s hand darted between Theon’s legs to cruelly grasp his balls.

“You’ve been touching yourself all fucking week haven’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re tal- ah!” He winced, tears welling at the corners of his eyes.

“I know what awful thoughts go through that head of yours. The things you've been thinking about me-“

“Babe-“

“You think I’m a cheat? That _I’m_ the slut here?” He slapped Theon broadly across the face. “You think I put you up in that apartment and go through these lengths to keep you safe because you’re just that good a fuck?”

His knife sliced through the restraints like butter, and then he was manhandling Theon to his knees.

“Well fine. If you think that’s all you’re good for, then have at it.”

Theon felt the blood drain from his body, leaving him numb and cold.

“Ramsay, I-“ The sound of zipper being undone made his heart stop.

_He’s not joking._

“What’s wrong?” Ramsay asked sweetly. “I thought you _missed_ me. And I know for a fact you’ve been gagging for it all week.”

Theon’s gaze darted frantically around the room, every set of eyes fixed on them.

“Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want, just - not here, not like this -“

Ramsay tangled his fingers into Theon’s curls, shoving his face into his clothed groin.

“Oh no. You’ve been asking for this for days. Do I not pay you enough attention, baby? Well you’re mistaken, because there’s fucking _nothing_ you can do or think that I won’t see.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Theon said weakly. “I was just upset. I only wanted to talk and you pushed me away.”

“I’m not pushing you away now, am I?” Ramsay asked harshly. “You want to talk so bad, fine. First you’re going to use that mouth to apologize for your behavior.”

With shaking hands Theon pawed at Ramsay’s trousers, pulling his manhood free. He was already half hard.

His heart was pounding in his ears. After another moment’s hesitation he gave a broad lick down the length of Ramsay’s skin, kissing the head and tasting the tang of salt.

_Looks like someone missed me too,_ Theon thought wryly, lips parting to take him in.

“There you go. You think I don’t treat you right? I’ll show you how well I treat you, you ungrateful-“ Ramsay’s words melted into a groan as Theon’s throat flexed around him.

Theon closed his eyes, not wanting to think about the others in the room or how he was never going to be able to look any of Ramsay’s boys in the face again. He only wanted to hear the patter of rain, the pant of Ramsay's breathing, and to feel the light thrust of the other man’s hips.

In cautious rhythm Theon worked him into his mouth, tongue stroking at his veins and lapping at his slit. He was still inexperienced at this, but was beginning to get the sense Ramsay actually liked it a little sloppy and desperate.

“I could have locked you up from the start,” Ramsay growled, hips stuttering. “I didn’t have to go easy on you. To fucking _court _you like I did. I gave you the world on a goddamn platter and all I asked was that you be loyal. That you _behave_. I could have cut off your bloody legs and kept you in my closet and you have the fucking _gall _to think I haven’t been good to you?”

Theon was starting to choke, air too brief and fleeting as Ramsay pistoned back and forth across his tongue.

“Maybe I went about it all wrong. Maybe I should have put you in your damn place first. Kept you in the kennels with the rest of the animals. Made you earn your way into my bed. We wouldn’t be going through this lesson now if I had, would we?”

_Then why the fuck didn’t you?_

“You’ve never known what you were worth, you stupid fucking dog,” Ramsay gasped, his grip on Theon’s hair tight and merciless. “And apparently you can’t be trusted to know. Because then we get you pulling- ah, pulling shit like this-”

He held Theon’s face flush to his body as he came, forcing him to take it all down his throat. After a long moment of heavy breathing Ramsay released his hold, slipping past Theon’s lips and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“I’m,” Theon coughed wetly, eyes freely tearing. “I’m sorry, Ramsay.”

“Hm.” Ramsay ran his fingers through Theon’s mussed hair. “We’ll talk about it when we get home. Just like you wanted, right?”

He zipped up his trousers and turned to the rest of the room, namely the prisoners gathered in the corner.

“As for the rest of you… well I expect we’ll be having little conversations of our own soon enough.”

* * *

The drive back to the city was painfully awkward.

While the boys shuttled their quarry back themselves, Theon got to ride shotgun in Ramsay’s car. The silence was taut and heavy between them.

“… You should probably check on Myranda,” Theon said finally, picking at a loose thread in his sweater. “I know she left for college, but this guy, he knew about her. Were she and Violet friends?”

Ramsay didn’t say anything. Theon wanted to fold himself up and disappear.

“I know you guys must’ve been close. She said that you used to talk about getting married,” he said, ghostly soft.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If these marks hadn’t shown up, you would have-“

“They _did_ and I _didn’t_.”

“But you did talk about it. You talked about _marriage._” Theon swallowed. “And you won’t even tell me how I make you feel.”

The car gave a sudden lurch as Ramsay simultaneously hit the brakes and swerved for the shoulder of the road.

“You want to know how you make me feel?” Ramsay demanded.

Before Theon could respond the other man was undoing his seatbelt and stepping out of the car, quickly circling round to drag Theon out of the passenger’s seat.

“You want to know how I felt when I got that call from you? How I feel every time you’re out of my sight?”

He had a fistful of Theon’s sweater, dragging him away from the car and to the railing that separated the mountain road from the dark abyss below. He hauled Theon effortlessly over the rail, half dangling him over the cliffside.

“Ramsay-“ Theon’s stomach dropped to his shoes as he flailed and struggled to find purchase.

The road was slick, the metal of the railing wet and cold against his thighs through his trousers. The air was thin with altitude and post-rain chill, carrying the scent of moss and Northern pine.

“It feels like _this,_” Ramsay growled. “It feels like I’m about to fall off the fucking edge. Past the point of no return. That’s how you make me _feel_, you vindictive snake.”

He finally yanked Theon away from the cliff, pinning him roughly against the side of the car.

“Myranda didn’t _leave _for college, idiot,” Ramsay snapped. “I sent her away. For you. For _us._ Gods only know what she would have gotten in her head to do to you if I hadn’t. And then I would’ve had to kill her.”

Theon’s breath caught, his world consumed by the angry gleam of stormy blue eyes.

“Do you still hunt girls?” He asked, words clumsily falling from his lips.

Ramsay frowned. “Are you asking me if I still kill women?”

“I’m sure you do. I’m asking if… if you still have sex with other people.”

_Rape, Theon. They say he rapes them. That should be the part you care about, you monster._

_Did he just rape me?_

Ramsay blinked, as if even he was surprised at the other man’s priorities.

“…No. I don’t.” He pulled away slightly. “And for the record I gave Violet every chance. She was determined to extort from us. My father would never have allowed her to live once he found out.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“No?” Ramsay asked, brow raised. “Because that’s not what it seems like.”

“I just… I just need to know where I stand with you.” Theon knotted his hands in Ramsay’s shirt. “I’m on the edge too, you know? And I’m scared.”

“You know where you stand. You’re mine. You always will be.”

“Yeah, but. Look, it’s just something that’s happened to me time and again, alright? With my father, my brothers, even the Starks. I get to the point where I’m willing to give everything, or where I _do_ give everything, and I just… I get a door in my face. A wall I can’t get past. Even with the people I know _do_ care about me deep down, they still wind up keeping me at arm’s length.” Theon sighed. “Is that going to happen here? Am I going to go over the edge for you just to get set aside?”

Ramsay tiredly rubbed his forehead. “I meant what I said before. I could have gone about this whole thing in a very different way. I even thought about it. But I didn’t, because I didn’t actually want you to hate me. I didn’t want to force you to like me either. Even though in hindsight that probably would have been easier.”

“Ramsay…”

“I suppose it started as a game. To see what these soulbonds were really all about, if you could naturally develop feelings for me even being as pathetic and skittish as you are. You needed a little push here and there to get us started, but I let you run free for the most part. To see what you would do.” He stubbornly avoided Theon’s gaze. “I didn’t expect to actually be affected by any of it.”

“But you were.”

“Obviously.”

“… Was I ever actually soulsick?”

Ramsay shrugged. “I’ve honestly no idea. Things did start to get a little weird towards the end there. I’m not entirely sure what was you messing with my head, and what was just me going off my meds.”

“But you were responsible for at least some of the weird shit that was happening. You gaslit the fuck out of me.”

“Like I said, it was just a game. And you needed a push.”

“I should hate you.”

“Probably.”

“You’re a monster.”

“That’s no secret.”

“And there is something deeply, terribly wrong with me.” Theon draped his arms around Ramsay’s shoulders.

"I want you to say it."

Theon sighed, pulling him in. “I’m falling in love with you.”

They kissed on the side of that mountain road, pressed against the damp car as the wind picked up around them. Ramsay couldn’t say it with his words so he used his touch. Theon would just have to be content, for now, in knowing that the way Ramsay felt was written in the things he did.

And in the things he didn’t do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at least. The challenge here was to take a soulmate au and turn it into a Halloween story. In my original 20k oneshot plan, it was much more of a psychological horror bit. The emphasis was on Theon’s soulsickness / the mind screw of his sanity slippage, which eventually drove him towards Ramsay with an ambiguous ending of just what did or didn’t happen.  

> 
> But then I got hit with a plot mallet the size of a freight train, and all this extra stuff (the Starks, the Greyjoys, the drama) came up instead, and it became an actual story instead of the literary equivalent of a fever dream. Thanks for hanging in on this unexpectedly 60k+ ride!


End file.
